


The Dark One of Prague

by cannibalisticshadows



Category: Beauty and the Beast - All Media Types, Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Antisemitism, Based on The Golem of Prague, Beauty and the Beast Elements, Blood and Gore, F/M, Gaston is fun to hate, Golem!Rumple, Human/Monster Romance, Jewish Character, Jewish!Belle, Judaism, Late 16th Century, Marriage of Convenience, Other, Rating May Change, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Romance, Scholar!Belle, a dash of spirituality, rumple does not turn human sorry not sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-26 09:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20740346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalisticshadows/pseuds/cannibalisticshadows
Summary: "A beshert," Perl said, "is the one who will complete you. They are the missing half of your soul. Quite literally, your soulmate. However, the word 'beshert' translates asdestiny, and destiny is entirely molded by your actions."





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It's really no surprise I'd be interested in writing a Jewish kind of rumbelle story. After all, I spent eight to nine months in Tzfat, Israel. 
> 
> The Golem of Prague is perhaps the earliest and most famously known reference to the creature known as the golem. While today it is a popular character of mythology in several books and movies, golems are spoken of seriously in several Jewish Orthodox circles. 
> 
> Long before the Golem of Prague, there was the _Sefer Yetzirah_, ("The Book of Creation"). As complex as its contents, its origin is equally mysterious and uncertain. It is considered one of the first and foremost books on Kabbalah. It's said it's one objective is to explain the origins of our, and the world's, existence, but... 
> 
> In the Talmud, one of the most important texts in Judaism, it says, _"On the eve of every Shabbat, Judah HaNasi's pupils, Rab Hanina and Rab Hoshaiah, who devoted themselves especially to cosmogony, used to create a delicious calf by means of the_ Sefer Yetzirah, _and ate it on the Sabbath."_
> 
> Kabbalah, in its most basic form, is Jewish esoterism, mysticism, discipline, and meditation. It's not so strange to refer to Kabbalah as "white magic", or something or the sort (though please note Judaism doesn't believe in doing witchcraft=black magic). Some argue that only people 40 years or older should be allowed to study such sacred texts. And perhaps they should, as in my personal experience, Kabbalah is extremely complex and difficult to decipher, and would be completely uninterpretable with no previous study into deeper Judaism teachings. 
> 
> I own a copy of this very book. It does pain me to say, however, that my copy is currently in storage, preventing me from quoting much from it.
> 
> Yet, perhaps that's a good thing. 
> 
> ______
> 
> DISCLAIMER: This rumbelle'd tale of The Golem of Prague should not be taken literally or read into too deeply. I have added, changed, exaggerated, and romanticized details of the actual story. Quite bastardized it, really. 
> 
> OTHER NOTES:
> 
> >The blood libels (the antisemitic accusation that Jews used blood from Christian children to make matzah for Passover) were truly believed by the gentile public for centuries. There is no positive answer to why this was believed by non-Jews, but in truth a lot of it had to do with ignorance and stubbornness to belive otherwise or straight out antisemitism. There are accounts of people placing false evidence to accuse the Jewish people of these blood libels. Blood libels were causes of several pogroms, some of which have left to the annihilation of entire Jewish communities. And it's even worse, that according to Jewish law, it's completely forbidden to consume blood, _period_
> 
> >The Maharal (Rabbi Judah Loew ben Bezalel) of Prague was a real live person. This is the man who is famed for making the golem. He had a wife named Perl who was a great scholar like him, and they had seven children together. I will (maybe) add a bio about him later.
> 
> >I'm shit at history so please don't cite anything I say. And, for rumbelle purposes, I've add some Disney B&tB themes... So yeah, not 100% accurate X'D
> 
> >I've given Belle the Hebrew name Bayla Raizel. It means "Beautiful Rose".

Fate was a fickle thing. Bayla Raziel had always known this. And she had always been a very odd sort of girl. Everyone in Prague knew it. They knew it when she walked by with her nose in a dusty old book, or when she openly argued with men who, by title, should know more than her. They knew it that by the time she turned thirteen, she could speak four languages. They knew it because she devoted hours to studying. Yet of all the things said about the young scholar, may it never be said she wasn't a martyr... for her people, or for her own heart.

Ever since Bayla Raziel — sometimes called Bella in honor of her French blood — had come to live in Prague, she had been the strange one. She questioned everything, and questioned frequently, and according to a rumor she once even out-questioned the Maharal of Prague himself. 

Bayla was born to Esther and Moshe Schwartz in the Provinces of Narbonne. Her mother gave birth and died in the very same wagon she would ride in with her father as they peddled along the provinces, selling clever little inventions Moshe made. They owned a big horse named Philippe, a goat, a few chickens, some clothes, Papa’s inventions, and one small little siddur that her father would hunch over and squint at, murmuring words in a foreign language.

Moshe, or Maurice as he went by when they were selling things, always put the prayer book away when they were in a populated area. Once a week, every Saturday, they would stop trying to sell his inventions and find somewhere to sleep—somewhere that had a bed, and food, but Maurice would not touch the food offered to him. He would not buy it, but if given, he didn’t refuse it either.

“I ate,” her shy Papa said to the buxom matron who was showing more than half of her breasts, to which he was trying his damnest not to stare at.“Give it to my girl.” 

Bayla stared as the plate of potatoes and pork were set before her, and waited until the woman had left their small room before turning to her father and saying, rather queerly, “This isn’t kosher.” 

“Eat the potatoes,” he urged with a frown. He was once a very wide man, she remembers when she was very small, but food, food they could eat, wasn’t in plenty. She had eaten an egg from the hens that early morning. Bayla does not remember seeing her Papa eat that day. “You haven’t eaten since this morning. It’s Shabbat, eat. Please?”

Bayla, six years old, stared at the plate of food. It smelled good. She had seen pork before, had smelled it, but it had never graced her lips. She moved the fleshy, undercooked meat bits to the side before taking a very tentative bite of the potato. When her mouth closed over the wooden spoon she felt like she had committed a sin. 

Kosher meant food she was allowed eat—or, what God told them to eat. That's what she grew up being told. Everyone else could eat non-kosher. 

Pig was not a kosher animal. Meat that had been killed or cooked by anyone else was not kosher either. Non-kosher food was forbidden to eat. Meat was very rare for them due to that, but a few times they had eaten chicken or other fowl—one of their own, or hunted, which her father killed and cooked himself. The last time she had eaten chicken was on a day her Papa called _Rosh Hashanah_. That was months ago.

“Why is pig not kosher?” She asks, swallowing the bite of potato that had touched the forbidden food, wondering if she should feel guilty that the smell made her stomach growl in want.

“It’s a dirty animal, petal,” Papa explained plainly. It was not enough for Bayla to be content. Not nearly enough. Yet that reason was enough for Papa. Bayla was used to hearing short answers, so she accepted it as what it was, because keeping kosher is the "Jewish way".

Bayla knew she was a… Jew. Papa had never quite said the word, few called him Moshe. They called him Maurice. They called her Bella Rosa, not Bayla Raziel. She watched him pray in the mornings, in the afternoon, and then at night before he goes to bed. He says praying is a man’s job. Many times she gets his prayer book and looks at the pages. She can’t read it, but she knows the letters. Papa teaches them to her, along with the common French. Papa’s book is written with no French what so ever. Her father speaks the Jewish language (_Hebrew_, she reminds herself). But he does not understand it.

Then why bother? If he’s doing nothing but saying words he doesn’t understand, what’s the point in praying at all? She is only six, nearly seven, and yet she thinks her Papa is very silly. When she questions him on his methods, and why he does them, and what does it mean, he answers in few words, often looking harassed by her inquires, and embarrassed that he had no answer. 

A pig is a dirty animal. Of course they were. They sit in the stinky mud all day! But their chickens were dirty and thin and had feathers missing. They weren’t that much cleaner. But they were good to eat, if killed right. She has yet to see how a chicken is killed in a “kosher” way, but Papa doesn’t like her seeing these things.

But Papa did make sure she was clean. Which was a little odd, as she knows the others do not clean themselves as often. Papa has a problem with dirt, she decides. What’s wrong with being a little dirty! Everyone else was. _It’s good to be clean. Think as if every day you are standing before a King, petal. Is it proper to smell bad before a King? Is it proper to handle the things in the King’s palace with dirty hands? Clean your hands every day, petal. Everyday._ That was one of the things Papa liked to say. 

Bayla did like the idea of acting as though being Jewish meant to be a servant to a King. It made sense. A dirty peasant had no place in a royal palace. _But we are peddlers_. Who cared what they looked or smelled like?

Bayla did not understand most of what they did. She should keep her hands clean. She should eat “kosher”, but as far as she knew that just meant no pigs or anything that hadn’t been killed or cooked by Papa. Papa did not have a lot of answers for what it meant to be Jewish.

The girl did, however, understand why they had to keep it a secret. People did not like Jew. She did not know why, but they did. That was why Papa did not give strangers there _Hebrew names_. It was like a secret club where they had their own secret nicknames. Sometimes they would meet someone else that was Jewish. It was rare. 

Bayla continued to eat her potato as her father pulled off his boots and coat, setting them to the side. He pulled off his shirt and opened his travel sack. He pulls out the tools for their religion. Which, Bayla things, he cannot go without. He covers his head in a funny black hat. He wraps his arms in leather rope. He covers his shoulders in a large white cloth. He speaks in an alien language, hunched over his book. He doesn’t speak to her if she speaks to him, while he does this. He does not know what he is saying, but by the serious, almost sacred look on his face, she would have guessed him to be a highly holy man

Though she feels like she’ll never understand what it means to be Jewish, with the foreign taste of pork in her mouth, Bayla knows its something very old, and something she wanted to be proud of, yet didn't know how.

~.~.~.~.~

Bayla, though she goes by Bella so often by others that the first time someone calls her “Bayla Raziel” it disturbs her, vows never to eat pork or anything non-kosher again after that night at the inn.

The night her father was busy praying to this God he seemed to know nothing about (yet reminded entirely devoted to), Bayla turned to the plate of good with a twisted frown on her lips. Who cared if she ate pork? It seemed extremely silly to avoid a type of food because it was “dirty”. Well you could clean it, then. There. A Kosher pig. Bayla snorts, and while Papa is busy with his little book, she spears a piece of meat and eats it with a delicious kind of deliberate defiance.

The feeling of rebellion seems to light her blood on fire, and she feels her heart skip. The thrill died quickly as she chewed the strange meat, marveling at the taste. The meat was good. Quite good, and she wanted to eat another piece before she could even swallow the first bite. Pork had a different texture than poultry. Bayla sighs and swallows. Though tasty, it feels as if she has swallowed a rock, and it hits her empty stomach.

She had just eaten pork.

Bayla’s cheeks glow with shame. The curiosity died as the meat went down her throat, and a terrible feeling as if she had done something very wrong began to grow in her throat. Almost nauseous. Bayla scrapes the rest of the pork around, thinking. Why did it feel like her Papa would be so upset with her if he found out? Papa was a kind person, but it made him very happy when she did the things he said were what God wanted. Bayla never gave much thought to this God. 

But now she was, and for the first time in her six years of life had the sudden, horrifying conclusion that she had done something truly bad. 

She laid awake that night, listening to her Papa’s snores long after he had fallen asleep. She thought, unreasonably, that if she were to close her eyes she would never open them again. Because she was Jewish, she thought the non-Jews’s severe views on punishment for sins did not apply to her—but she had never done anything really bad before, nor purposefully went against her father’s wishes. Now she had, and she did not know what to do with herself.

Bayla did not sleep, and when her father woke he found his daughter emptying her stomach’s meager contents into the chamber pot. She was sick for the next several days, convinced it was God Himself who had punished her for her sin.

It frightened her to image such a merciless figure, all-knowing and judger of all. She has a million questions, questions that scared her to ask in risk of sounding rebellious to the dogma of this religion, this _race_, she was born to. Yet she could not stop asking things after that, and Papa could not answer them. He once said he wished he could teach her how to read, so she could learn things herself. Bayla wished she could read, too. Books were a pleasure to handle. Imagine reading them...

For the next two years, life in France became very hard—harder than before. Papa’s health begun to decline, and while their peddling business was good, for Papa was very clever with his inventions, he spoke of his fears about her ever finding a _good Jewish man_ to marry. 

Moshe had always been a passive and kind soul, even to those who shunned them, and encouraged Bayla to learn as much as she could, from whatever means possible. She learned her normal letters, and she learned the Hebrew letters. Or, the _Aleph-Bais_. 

Papa was desperate that, if she decides to marry, which he said that it was a _mitzvah_ to marry and have babies, she had to marry another Jew. Though, he speaks of with glee in his blue eyes when he speaks of what he calls a _bashert_. 

“It is the person you are meant to be with.”

“...like a soulmate?”

“Yes, exactly! Oh, your mother, God rest her soul, she was certainly my bashert…”

But finding her soulmate, a concept she barely acknowledged, that was also Jewish seemed impossible, as she had met few other Jews, and those Jews kept their identity secret like they did, and were much older than her.

So Papa decided that France was no longer a place for them to live.

“Prague,” he said with a firmness she had never heard before. “We shall go to Prague.”

Bayla blinks rapidly. “What’s Prague?”

“A place for Jews, that’s what!”

She could not image any such place. A place for Jews? When there was so few of them? “Imagine, having a synagog to go to on Shabbos!” Papa continued. “Oh, have I prayed for years that we could find a rabbi to teach you what I could not learn!” 

Having never had that, she could not imagine it at all. And Bayla did have a very wide imagination. Papa loved to tell stories, and she loved to think of them in moving pictures in her head in bright, vivid color.

But she could not imagine them living in a place with more Jews than, oh, perhaps a dozen?

~.~.~.~

Traveling from the Provence to Bohemia was not an easy journey. It took them several months, nearly a year, of traveling through a very rough winter and little food. She had lost a lot of weight she wasn’t aware she could loose, as did Papa, but Papa looked ill, his cheeks sunken and hollow. Yet his eyes stayed bright, and he did his daily prayers three times a day. 

Prague was the capital, yet it was not an all Jewish town, much to her confusion (and disappointment)—yet Papa didn’t seem surprised. All Jews were directed to the _ghetto_. This ghetto was a Jewish settlement, according to her father. This ghetto was called Josefov. To Bayla’s bewilderment, it was normal for Jews to all cluster together in one area. They had nothing like that in the Provence. 

The gates of the town seemed so ominous to Bayla. It was a small town, but it was entirely surrounded by high walls that was not build to keep intruders out, but to keep the occupants inside. She clutched onto her father’s arm as their tired horse and wagon slowly made its way inside, where the heavy gates were closed behind them in loud, creaking metal. A strange man in funny clothes with a scruffy beard met them at the gates. He kept giving them both wary looks, until her father said something in Hebrew, to which the man relaxed and opened the gate for them to enter. She wondered why this man seemed to eye them with extreme caution. What were they afraid of? 

The language barrier was a problem. Papa knew Hebrew words but could not really speak it. He was aware of the Yiddish language, which surprised Bayla, and spoke a broken form of it. Everyone in Josefov spoke Yiddish, besides Czech. They were a strange people in a strange land, in a town surrounded by walls and the people on the outside stared at them in a way that made Bayla feel as if she had done something wrong. 

~.~.~

Papa died a week later.

A few weeks shy from turning nine, in the boardinghouse they had been directed too for outsiders seeking refuge, Bayla awoke to find Papa still sleeping. He was usually up before her, praying. Or, as someone called it, _dovening_. Bayla went to shake his shoulder, for she could not stand the silence without him. She was miserable here and depressed, yet unable to name these emotions.

Yet Papa would not wake up.

In a haze, and several hysterics of screaming in her native tongue, Bayla found herself numb and dumb, standing in a crowded cemetery, where they buried her father in a wooden box. The funeral took place the day after his death. They took away his body, and she did not know what they did to him, but the funeral was short and taken care of—all very quickly.

Bayla stood at his gravestone, glaring at it with unshed tears in her eyes. She wanted to be angry. Angry for this foolish father of hers that quite possibly killed himself in an effort to move to an alien place. Angry for leaving her behind with people that spoke in another language, who dressed funny, and watched her with pity in their eyes. Words were not needed to understand that. 

A woman who lived in the house they stayed at tried to sooth her, but she was unaware of her or the people who conducted the funeral. Bayla did not see them drift off to give her space once the services were over. Yet one man lingered in the back of the small gathering. He watched her with cool regard. He stayed until it was just them.

Bayla continued to stare at the mass of freshly turned earth, and at her father’s Hebrew name etched into the small headstone. At some point a small book is offered to her.

It’s her father’s siddur.

“Bayla Raziel Shwartz?”

She jolted in alarm. No one called her Bayla. Not even Bayla called herself Bayla. She answered to Bella mostly. Papa called her petal. 

Attached to the offered book is a man clad in black. He wore a hat, “My name is Rabbi Loew,” he said in perfect French. She looked up in surprise. Now someone was speaking her language? But then again she had never seen this man before. He wore all the funny clothes as the other Jewish people, even the hat. Most of the men in this town covered their heads—so did some of the women. His hair and beard held a few gray hairs.

“I wished we could have met on better terms, child. Your father spoke often of you.”

Bayla stares at him in shock. The man looked like he had the wisest eyes she had ever seen. As if knowledge of other worlds twinkled in his eyes, but he stood up straight and spoke in a quiet voice. She went on guard, feeling as if she was looking at someone important. Was he the leader here? Why only show himself to her now? Then again, why show himself at all—she was just a poor French orphan with no family.

“I am told that you have questions.”

She certainly had some questions, that's for sure. 

“Why?” Bayla blurts, her cheeks wet. “Why would a God let this happen?”

Rabbi Loew regarded her with a steady, calm gaze. “Your father had a mission in life. Something he was destined to do. When we complete our task, our time here is fulfilled, and we return to our Maker.”

Bayla grits her teeth. “Why? Why leave me here, all alone? What kind of God orphans children?”

The rabbi strokes his beard, remaining silent for a moment. “Hashem has set a path for you to take. He has a path set for everyone. Whatever may happen, good or bad, in blessing or in suffering, will shape you into the person you are destined to be. However, it is up to you for you to start this path. Whatever it is, your path starts now, and it will start everyday once you awaken from slumber. Your fate is in Hashem’s will, yet you are the vessel to shape it.”

Bayla hiccups, trying to process what she has just been told. 

He tilts his head to the side, looking at the siddur in his hands, of which she has yet to take. “Someone once said that a curse can be a blessing in disguise… a difficult road to travel that leads to great merits. Whatever the reason, Hashem has decided that your father has done his duty in this life. He is with the Shekhinah now, as he will be within your heart.”

“Is that Heaven?”

Rabbi Loew answers with a smile. “Yes.”

This makes her cry. She cannot mentally grasp his gentle reasoning, yet, as she bursts into tears and throws herself onto her hands and knees over her father’s grave. The wretched orphan is not aware of the man bending down to wrap her up in his black robes, murmuring words any father would say to a grieving child. 

“Come,” he says, once she can stand on her feet again. “I wish to introduce you to my wife. I believe there is supper awaiting.”

Unbeknownst to her, when Bayla steps over the doorpost of the rabbi’s home, she’s there to stay.


	2. For Intents and Purposes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bayla, almost seventeen, faces a potential, frightening future.

(December of 1579, Prague)

The heavy set of keys clinked against Bayla’s hip as she walked through the arched Gothic entrance to the _Altneuschul_ courtyard. Gravel and grass crunched beneath her worn leather slippers. Her long chestnut hair flows in the nippy wind as she travels the familiar path to the entrance of the shul. 

It’s early yet; the sun has not quite peaked the horizon of the crowded rooftops of Prague. But Bayla Raziel is late for work. Keeper of keys and of the building itself, she had a very important job to do. It was up to her to unlock the building for her foster parents, to dust some of the surfaces, and just to make sure no one had broken in and taken something.

Rabbi Loew was the Polish man who had adopted her into his home after the death of her father. Bayla knew absolutely nothing of Judaism besides what meager things her late Papa told her. But this rabbi was, to her shock, later on, the pulpit rabbi of the grand Gothic synagogue called Altneuschul and the Chief Rabbi of all of Prague. He was an extremely learned man, both in Talmudic studies and secular sciences such as mathematics and astronomy. 

His wife Perl was as equally intelligent, if not more so. Once, Bayla overhead her correct her husband on a certain commentary. 

They had had seven children together, all of whom had already left home but their youngest daughter, Ariella, who got married a few months after Bayla moved in. She always supposed that, with the children grown and gone, Perl adopted the French orphan without question. 

The Loew household was still busy, even without several children. The rabbi was always involved in something—conducting services at the synagogue, giving lectures, studying with his students, or settling matters between the townsfolk. Even at home he was busy reading or responding to letters, having private meetings with others in his office, or studying the secular sciences with people from afar. 

His wife, too, was a busy person. She often helped with her husband’s work, or would work with the women of the town in spiritual affairs or as a counselor, sometimes even helping the midwife. 

With no more children to worry about, they both had become a bit busier, and the family nurse had long since gone, leaving no one to look after the girl besides neighbors. Due to that, she went with either rabbi or rebbetzin on their daily duties. Bayla was integrated into the ghetto life rather smoothly. 

The ghetto was not currently so bad. In fact, according to her foster mother, Josefov was flourishing as of late. The Jewish communal leader was the Minister of Finance—a very wealthy man. A lot of Jews had jobs outside of the ghetto, and there wasn’t too much of an issue with that. If a Jew had a job outside their walled town, he _had_ to be good at it. _People tolerate us most when we are useful_, Perl told her once. Yet it wasn’t always good, because more eyes watched them the more they branched out into the gentile public. Bayla notices the eyes that follow them, most simply curious, a few hostile, when she’s taken into market places out of Josefov.

She learns to speak the native tongue first. The ghetto was not so strict that they were forbidden from leaving—they were just not allowed to live among the gentiles. Then she was taught Yiddish, for that was the language of the Jews. Along the way she became fluent in Hebrew, to read the holy books and writings, and to better understand the words in Papa’s siddur.

All of Josefov knew her. She was, after all, the orphan the town’s head rabbinic family were fostering. Then a lot of Prague knew her, because by the time she grew into the young woman she is now, Bayla often goes to market or other shoppes for her foster family on errands. She felt like she owed them so much—for housing her and clothing her, and for opening her eyes to all the wonders she was missing, Judaic or secular wise. Loew once, jokingly, called her an intellectual glutton. She was rarely seen without a book.

Bayla unlocks the heavy synagogue doors. The tall arching ceiling, the intricate details etched into the doorway. She had been here so many times, yet the architecture was still stunning. It was a very old building, as early as the 12th century, and one of the first Gothic structures of Prague. It smelled of old parchment and sweet-smelling spices, earth and cloth. She opens the windows and clears the tables, organizing the books that had been scattered about from the night before. 

Before she decides her morning work is done, she goes into the library—oh how she loved this room—and pulls out a few books. There were more in her foster father's home, and hundreds more line the walls from floor to ceiling in the synagogue, all of which she knows of or is at least familiar with. Her vivacious and often unquenchable thirst for knowledge, and having foster parents who were _so learned_, had made her into quite the little scholar. Her seventeenth birthday would be here before she knew it, yet she could already be a fully qualified rebbetzin if she wanted to.

With her books, she goes out the back entrance and climbs the stairs to the attic. No one came up here besides the owls that roosted there. No one, except Bayla, who would squirrel herself away in the private alcove. Here, she could sit in peace and study her books, while listening to the men who filled into the synagogue below, and sang their songs of prayer.

———

(Later That Day)

“Perl-ah,” The rabbi inquires as his wife, who is carrying a baked pie to place near the window to cool, “I am going out to meet someone. I’m not sure how late I’ll be.”

Bayla, who’s sitting outside on the steps weaving a basket because her old one broke (too many books, Perl had chastised her), perks up at the conversation through the open front door. 

“What for, Yehuda?”

“Do you remember when I sent that letter to the Cardinal?”

Bayla chokes on her own tongue. _What?_ Why would the rabbi write to the cardinal? She shakes her head. Of course she knows why—she just didn’t know that her faster father was doing it so soon… 

Bayla had lived in Prague for roughly eight years. During that time she had seen incredible things and learned even greater. However, with that she witnessed first hand why her people were hated so. Ignorance, she concluded, stupid and born from hysteria.The Hebrew month of Nisan was coming up in four months, but already a quiet sort of caution had fallen on the people of Josefov. Because when Nisan arrived, it meant the holy days of Pesach (Passover) would soon be here. 

And Pesach meant Blood Libels. 

The Blood Libels had been around for hundreds of years, long before Bayla, and would probably, disgustingly, last long after she was dead. The gentiles had accused them time and time again of kidnapping and murdering Christian children, to put the blood into their matzah. This claim had led to thousands, if not tens of thousands of deaths of the Jewish people.

The accusation is so ridiculously wrong it made her sick. Why would they even think… It could not be more ridiculous if someone said they saw Rabbi Loew conducting synagogue services in his night gown. 

The Roman Catholic Church was the governing religion in Bohemia and other countries. They were not condoning any Blood Libels openly, at the _present_ time, but they were not dissuading others from the accusation either. The current Emperor was neutral toward them, unlike the previous one who had caused several pogroms.

“He has agreed to meet with me—I will leave today,” the rabbi said, getting his cloak and hat. “Hopefully I will be back before supper.”

Bayla gets up from the stairs and waits for the rabbi to near, before asking, “Can I come?”

“Bayla...“

“I want to visit the book store, please.”

He sighs, but smiles knowingly. “Alright, but please don’t cause any trouble.”

Which was a joke, because she more or less keeps to herself.

Satisfied, she gets her cloak and picks up her newly mended basket.

~.~.~.~

Bayla didn’t stay with Rabbi Loew for long, for when they left the Jewish quarter a golden carriage, one from the Catholic Church, awaited there with black horses antsy to move. Her foster parent nods to her. “Go on to market, I will see you at home. Do not wait for me as I do not know how long I’ll be.”

“Yes, sir.”

She watches the rabbi climb into the carriage and then sees them take off down the road, going at a slow yet steady pace. People watch and point, sure enough preparing to gossip over the reasons why the famous Jewish scholar got into a Cardinal’s carriage. 

Bayla sighs, and says a quiet little prayer that whatever the rabbi was planning would turn out for the best.

________________

“I must say I’m pleased to finally meet the acclaimed Rabbi Loew,” Cardinal Sylvester says as the well-known rabbi sits across from him in the intricate carriage. 

“I take it you have received my letter?”

“Yes, it delighted me. For several years I’ve heard of your intellectual prowess and scholarship. Now it appeared you wish to put it to the test?”

“I wish to conduct an open debate, so all know that the Blood Libels have no basis in fact.”

“Well, your request has come at an opportune time. Next month three hundred of our most learned scholars are convening here in Prague—why don’t we conduct this then?” 

“Your confidence in my abilities flatter me, Cardinal. However, one rabbi against three hundred Catholic priests is hardly fair.” 

“Perhaps, but if this interrogation is not done before the entire assembly those absent are sure to hold onto their own suspicions and unable to present their own questions. This convention will be thirty days, of course.” 

“How about this, Cardinal. Divide your priests into sections and write down their questions on paper, so that I might address them accordingly.”

“Excellent. I look forward to our next meeting.”

________

Lord Chace Gaston was a patriot. If anything, he wanted to go down in history as a man who would fight for France and his noble bloodline till his last breath. That goes to say, he would happily pledge himself to King Henry III, and go out with honor as he fought in the holy wars currently ravaging his country. But it was his mother who insisted he flea out of the kingdom to pursue other things. He had a wealthy uncle who owned his own printing press in Prague, and had lived here for the past five years in comfort and all the time in the world to hunt game, drink sweet honeyed wines, and enjoy the company of woman who were more than eager to open their legs for the noble Frenchman.

The only reason he agreed to leave his motherland was only because of his dear Mama—if he had stayed, he would, undoubtedly, be knighted by the His Majesty and had all the pleasures of attending the royal court could have to offer. However, that might have come at a price, and one he wasn’t too keen on, and it hurt his male pride to even consider it. So he only lowered himself to listen to a woman’s advice, even the one who birthed him, because he did not wish to be a _les mignons_. 

But though life was good in the Kingdom of Bohemia, and he had a decent relationship with the Holy Roman Emperor, Gaston felt like he was missing something.

The woman here were not like the girls back home in France. To be honest, there was a lot of famine back home, but the girls here were not the same. He wanted to have good, strong heirs, and felt like the time was rapidly coming that he would need to choose a wife. While the girls here saw to it that his bed was never cold, they did not have the French qualities he was missing.

That is, until he saw _her_.

The first time Lord Gaston saw Bella Rosa was in the marketplace, when she was naught but fifteen—a coltish thing barely touching the edge of womanhood. Though even then he found himself entranced by her long chestnut hair that made him think of the rich cocoa he sampled as a child, and the bright blueness of her eyes like sapphires. Even her skin, which glowed with health and a paleness like milk and honey. He wanted to lap at her skin and see if she tasted like it.

Before he could even introduce himself to the girl he was already fantasizing about, she turned and spoke to a vender who was selling nuts. And her accent was very, very French.

He was in love. He had to be. His heart soared and he nearly leapt for joy. He had found the woman he would marry, and she would bear his children like the perfect wife she was destined to be. The nobleman was striding over to insert himself into her path when a hoarse voice stopped him.

“I can see that Bella over there has caught your eye, mm?” Said a man, leaning against a wall with a few other low lines. The Frenchman sneered, not even wanting to bother with such peasants. “Before you get your drawers in a bundle, might I mention that the girl’s a _Yid?"_

“A what?” He demanded.

“She’s a Jewess,” one of the peasant’s companions spat, but gave him a leery smile. “You can watch but’cha can’t touch’er, lover boy.” They all laughed.

The nobleman gritted his teeth. Turning back, he watched the beautiful girl dressed in rich fabrics, a sign she was no street rat, speak to an older woman who he could tell was a Jew. The girl’s teeth, too, were in good shape. It nearly crushed him. He had seen the girl for all but two minutes and she was practically untouchable. 

He left the marketplace, mind cloudy. Lord Gaston got what he wanted—always! And he got the very best, for he was the very best. He was handsome, wealthy, strong and brave. As such, his wife should be just as beautiful, graceful, and healthy enough to bear him an heir and some spares. She was French, like him! He knew it would make his parents proud to know he had taken a French wife in a foreign land—

The nobleman stopped in his tracks.

The girl, Bella Rosa, was a French Jewess, and to see her here was not so strange. A lot of Jews fled France, especially with the holy wars going on, and those who stayed were forced to convert and to pay higher taxes as such. He did not wish to attend the royal court because he was a lover of women, but with a wife, who could be the perfect political weapon as a symbol for the authority of his own religious prowess. And being married, he might, just might, avoid being a _mignons_.

And from then on, Lord Chace Gaston swore that the girl would be his. He made himself very common in the markets, later on, prowling the streets and near the Jewish quarter in hopes of running into her. And he does, and for the next two years he makes himself well known to Bella. When she's ready, he will marry her, one way or another.

~.~.~.~ 

“Back again?” The kindly voice of the elderly book clerk greeted her as Bayla stepped inside. The young woman smiled, empty basket in hand. “And with a new basket!”

“Same one,” she laughs, remembering how the last time she was here, her basket’s bottom had fallen out from the weight of books. “I’m subpar at weaving, but my foster mother gave me some pointers.”

“Good, good,” the man nods, and happily beckons his most frequent customer inside. The young Jewess had been here so often that he knew her well enough. She started frequenting here as young as thirteen, when she could venture out without a companion, to his worry. 

As always, she loaded her basket and hungrily drank up the new titles he had gotten, finding a particular interest in a history on modern medicine. Her quest for knowledge knew no bounds, but the clerk often worried for the girl. He did not know what the Jewish community thought of the French lass, but he had heard that she lived with a great rabbinic scholar—which explained a few things. But he still wondered if a woman as learned as she was so excepted, for in this day and age women who had independent thought were not often accepted. The girl remained oblivious to that, thought, and bought her new things and left with her nose inches away from the words of one of her new books.

~.~.~.~

“_Bonjour, ma belle,_” greeted the smooth voice of none other than Lord Gaston, and Bayla halted in her steps in surprise. She hadn’t heard the French noble approach her, but her hackles relaxed at the sign of the familiar man.

He was a very annoying man, but otherwise harmless. As a fellow Frenchman he often accounted her in the gentile markets and shops to converse with her in their native tongue. Her problem, however, was with his consent flirting, which she found uncomfortable and inappropriate, as she was raised to avoid such rakish behavior. 

This behavior seemed to grow over the years of having known the man, and now that her seventeenth birthday approaches, and the expectancy to marry, his flirting became less silly and more serious. Which did not rub her the right way. The last time he had cornered her, he made several vague references to returning to France--with a French wife.

“Hello, m’Lord,” she greets, wondering if by responding to him in Yiddish from here on out he’ll leave her alone.

“Every time I see you, love, you’re always in the clouds with these—books.” He tilted his head and gave her a disapproving look. “While I am _fully_ supportive of your frivolous little hobbies, don’t you think it’s time to focus on more important things? Like seeing to your husband?”

Bayla chose not to respond, choosing to keep walking toward Josefov—she’ll just buy fish there, despite the errand taking longer that way. Lately the man-made her increasingly uncomfortable. 

“Hey, now,” he said, easily striding up to the petite young woman who was intent on leaving. He gracefully snatches the book from her hands, frowning.

“Lord Gaston,” Bayla huffs, crossing her arms. “Give me my book, please.”

“How can you even read this?” The tall, muscular man squints at the book, flicking through the pages. He was about to complain on the lack of pictures, but stopped at the sight of a particularly detailed drawing of the human anatomy—dissected. “A good woman should have no business with such topics!” He huffed, dropping the book onto the muddy street. The girl gasped and bends to pick it up

“It’s about time you pay less attention to words and more attention on getting a husband. I, for one, am very well off, and no one needs to know of your archaic practices. I’m sure we can even smuggle a Christian boy in or two—“

“Don’t talk about such nonsense!” The girl’s hackles were now truly raised, hissing at him. But he laughed aloud, not having believed in the horror stories others liked to tell anyway. But others did, and they both knew that.

“I’m joking, love. But with all these books… you silly little girls will start getting _ideas_ and—“

“I have to go, now,” Bayla snaps, and pushes past the man. He reaches out and grabs her elbow.

She tenses. _No man had the right to touch her._

“Bella,” Gaston growls, bending toward her. “I’ve had enough of these games. You are of age, and I intend to have you.”

“I am a Jew,” she exclaims.

“And you will convert, have no doubt about that. My people back home will lavish you with all the worldly pleasure you could possibly want. What’s not to want?”

“Let go of me!”

“It’d be a shame if word got out about another child murder.”

She froze. Her face went sheet white. “Are you _threatening_ me?”

“I’ve pursued you for nearly three years, girl! You _will_ marry me, or you will regret the consequences.”

With that, he let her go, leaving bruises on her arm. Bayla did not cry, because she was too furious with him and with her cowardly behavior to cry out of fear, but her heart was in her throat, she found it hard to breath, and when she turned and ran off, she was desperate to get home to the safety of the ghetto.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> >The Maharal of Prague really was a very learned man! He was friends with Tycho Brahe, and he even meet with the Holy Roman Emperor (Rudolph II). 
> 
> >Why Bayla/Bella saw so few Jews in France was because it was not a place for them at the time. The Wars of Religion were currently going on (1562-1598), and around early sixteenth century a lot of Jews were forced to convert, and later on would have to pay higher taxes (pretty similar to the Spanish Inquisition). 
> 
> >King Henry III of France, who is the current French ruler in the time frame of this story, had a lot of rap for having raging homosexual tendencies, some of it toxic, amongst his favored court people or whatever—basically yeeted himself out of war business to be with his BFs. Those who were accused of being with the kind were called las mignons. 
> 
> >I got the conversation between Rabbi Loew and Cardinal Sylvester from the [Dramatic Passover Story of The Mysterious Golem of Prague](https://www.chabad.org/kids/article_cdo/aid/2166967/jewish/The-Mysterious-Golem-of-Prague.htm)\--(with Leonard Nimoy!) This audio is only part of it. I know there's a second part but I can't find it without having to buy it :( I remember this audio well--I had to listen to it a lot in carpools when I was in school XD
> 
> >The Maharal was thought to be born in Worms, Germany (called Prussia then), but those records were proven faulty, so it's thought he was from Posen, Poland. His birth year is unknown (anywhere between 1512-1526), but he died in 1609.
> 
> >DO NOT WORRY, RUMPLE WILL HOPEFULLY SHOW UP NEXT CHAPTER, OR AT LEAST IT WILL CONCERN HIM.
> 
> >The Altneuschul, or the Old-New Synagogue, is still standing today, and it is Europe's oldest standing synagogue, along with the Old Jewish Cemetary. (According to legend, the golem's body is in the attic of the shul... the attic which is closed off to the public...duhduhDUH)
> 
> >The reason why the synagogues were not destroyed in WWII was because the Hitler planned on using Prague's Jewish quarter for a... Well they wanted to call it _The Museum of an Extinct Race_. 
> 
> >That communal leader who's helping Josefov prosper is Mordecai Meisel. He was alive in the Maharal's timeline, so they had to at least know of each other, if not met directly. He is buried in the Old Jewish Cemetary, where the Maharal is buried also.


	3. Tales as Old as Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The minorities are often the perfect scapegoat. Now seventeen, Bayla's town faces new threats from the outside world. It's decided that a fighter is needed to defend them, but who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: The term "goy" isn't a slur like the n-word. The term "gentile" is pretty old and seriously outdated. More often than not "goy" is simply used to refer to non-Jews by Jews. Jews don't go around hissing _"Oh those nasty goys"_. And it gets pretty repetative to say Jews and non-Jews all day. It also really depends on the context on which it's being used. The only time I've ever heard it being used in an offensive way is against another Jew by a Jew, like: "that's goyish", which means: "you're not being/acting very Jewish right now". It's also used jokingly, used in the same contex but by friends that are teasing. 
> 
> So yeah, when someone says "goy" it's not the same as if a white person uses the n-word.
> 
> The only real Jewish slur for a non-Jew that I have heard being used is _"shiksa"_ which is a term for a non-Jewish woman.

Bayla did not speak of the lord’s horrid marriage proposal to her foster parents.

Instead, she nursed her hurt feelings and chastised herself for thinking being alone so often would always be safe. She thought of the story of Dinah, Jacob’s daughter—a warning for young maidens to never go out alone, least… that happen to her. And though this was Bohemia and not the Hivites, and rape was frowned upon, a forced marriage in the gentile world was not so strange, especially if the woman had no power to deny the man. 

If either foster parent noticed her more drawn in, they did not comment on it, but they did watch her more carefully. Bayla was not a chatty person by nature, usually busy with a book, but she did speak her mind freely to them and liked to discuss things she had learned or wished to learn—when she was quiet, without a book, she was usually thinking deep things, but never with such a scowl on her face. 

She was quiet because she was busy thinking of her age. She had become of age nearly three years ago, and though she had several potential _shidduchim_ she could partake in, Bayla had never felt ready for such things yet. Perl did not attempt at any matchmaking for her, and the rabbi did not speak on such matters with her. They knew she wished to continue to study and read, and would not be content with someone who wasn’t as learned as all that. There were scholars in the community looking for wives, but Bayla had never favored them with so much as a passing gaze.

Despite her having no interest in marrying anytime soon, the girl knew of the ways between man and wife. Perhaps more than any maiden should. 

Perl had been there to explain the ways of a woman’s body when Bayla’s first blood came, and could not avoid the topic of sex any longer when the girl’s questions became more frequent. See, Bayla studied Talmud, and the Talmud sometimes spoke of sex. There were Judaic books that discussed the matter, which had been forbidden to her curious eyes. There were still books forbidden to her, but nothing lewd, simply _too advanced_, as Rabbi Loew said gently. Which irked her a bit. 

The older Bayla got, the more Perl relents and tells her of things a maiden could only vaguely comprehend. _“You have power in the _ _ketubah_,” she told her foster daughter. _“Your husband is obligated to listen to you, and is not to persuade or force you into fulfilling marital duties. It’s by your word, in your own time, and your husband is obligated to satisfy you, as it is your right."_

Bayla cannot comprehend what it means for her husband to satisfy her. She would lay awake at night, wondering how she could be _sated_ outside of hunger or thirst. Was it a mother’s desire to nurture and raise children? Like Perl, who treated Bayla as if she were her own? Like the sheep in the fields who nursed their lambs? Or the birds who fed their chicks in the trees? She was aware that a man would lay atop her, between her legs, and plant his seed into her womb—like the beans that were left out in the sun would sprout little green buds, beginning to turn into a mature plant that would in turn make more beans. 

She wasn’t against the idea of being a mother. She was aware it was a married couple’s mitzvah to _go forth and prosper_ and _be fruitful and multiply_. But the thought of being burdened with a infant made her a little scared, for when could she read her books? Would her future husband read to her?

She snorts, and then only thinks of it in passing.

Now she’s teetering the appropriate age of marrying, and if she continued to live her life like it was she would be a spinster, which was frowned upon in the more Orthodox circles. Eventually, Perl would try to encourage her to ask for matchmaking. Bayla prays that her husband be at least interesting to talk to, if not as clever as her foster parents.

But what she did know was that she could not marry that damned French goy!

~.~.~.~

Bayla turned seventeen on January 10th in the gentile year of 1580. Since she was ten, her birthday seemed to cause the townspeople to think it was a cause for celebration, and she awoke in the morning to the smells of sweet nutty pastries—her favorite. Today progressed as normal; to her opening the synagogue, clearing the rooms, organizing the books, ect. The people of Josefov smiled wished her well wishes, and a blessed year. They usually did this by nosily wondered aloud if she had her eye on some lucky young rabbi. Today they were more subdued, for they all (even those who attended different synagogues in other neighborhoods) seemed to know that today was different, excluding Bayla’s English birthday.

What made the day different was the lack of Rabbi Loew.

Actually, he had been absent for a week, for he was in a town next over out of Josefov, conducting a very important meeting with the Cardinal of Prague and several other Catholic priests. _An interrogation,_ she thought bitterly, but knew that Loew had been right to try and agrees the matter head on. Jews typically kept to themselves, and thought there were a few converts here and there, there were no missionaries, and it was difficult for a gentile to integrate themselves into their lifestyle. With their own language, calendar, holidays, laws, and even traditions, they were no worse than a leper. Fact was that when something bad happened, people looked to blame, and the Jews were the perfect scapegoat.

Rabbi Loew would be gone for another three weeks. When he returned, they would know how the convention went. The outcome would see to it if the Catholic Church would intervene in stopping the Blood Libels, or to feed the fire of the anti-Jew propaganda. 

____________

While Josefov waited impatiently for their Chief Rabbi to return safely (and with good news), the man himself sat in the same room he had been attending for the previous month. He would not enter a church, as per his religious beliefs, but it didn’t matter anyway as the convention of Catholic scholars were conducted together in a grand town hall. During that month, three hundred priests had presented the acclaimed rabbi with questions.

The debate started out frank enough; reasons for keeping kosher, what makes food kosher, the 613 commandments, circumcision, marriage, sex, the holidays, fast days, the Hebrew calendar, bat/bar mitzvahs, written and oral Torah, the afterlife, ect. 

Soon enough the questions progressed into more argumentative topics, such as Christ vs the Jewish Messiah, reward and punishment, and a number of conspiracies based on ignorance and hate. 

Then, when all that had been said, came the question they had all really came for.

Cardinal Sylvester brings forth the dreaded demand. “Now, Rabbi, please address the congregation on the rituals of murdering Christian children.” 

Rabbi Loew stands from his seat before the room of priests, all of whom lean forward to hear his carefully worded answer. Like any good scholar they had dabbled in the Old Testament, but with no true Hebrew speaker amongst them, several things were lost in translation. This debate had opened their eyes to several things, leaving many priests content in the topics so far, if of the opinion it was all very strange and archaic. Yet some were not so connived by the Jew. Specifically one man: Father Brian. He, though inclined to agree with the fellow scholar, knew better, and had the damning proof that all wasn’t so _kosher_ with the Jews in Prague. 

“When the Hebrew nation went up to Mount Sinai to receive the commandments, we were given the commandment to _Thou Shalt Not Kill_—“ 

“But to kill in order to remind the people of the blood they themselves shed at the hands of their Egyptian slave masters?” Father Brian pipes up.

“No,” Loew replies firmly. “It is only right that we do onto others, fellow Jew _and_ goy, that we would do onto ourselves. And it is forbidden to eat any loathsome thing, including blood! Meat from a kosher animal that has been slaughtered according to Jewish law is drained of blood, and the blood is immediately discarded. If an egg is found to have the _slightest_ trace of blood, that egg is forbidden to us! The Blood Libels are nothing more than lies born from hysteria and confusion. Matzah that has anything other than flour or water is not considered matzah. Putting blood in matzah could never have happened, and will never happen.” 

The congregation went silent for a moment, processing the rabbi’s passionate words. If he was to be considered telling words of truth, then the Blood Libels truly had no basis in fact... 

“Well, rabbi, you’ve spoken eloquently and I myself believe the accu—“

“Can you say that about _every_ Jew, Rabbi Loew?”

The Cardinal turns a glare to Father Brian’s insolence, and Loew raises an eyebrow. 

“Surely there are those that are not as learned as you, Rabbi, as there are Christians who do not know the inner context of the Bible. Therefore there are Jews who willfully disobey your religious commandments—!”

“Father Brian, that’s en—“

“—as the history of countless murders of Christian children at the hands of your people! That cannot be denied!”

Several people in the auditorium begun to raise their own voices in response, either in agreement or disagreement, loudly whispering at the young priest’s claim. Rabbi Loew sighed and rubbed the sides of his temples, as the Cardinal tried to bring order. “This is against the agreement to this debate,” the rabbi says firmly. “And all I hear is more accusations, no questions.”

“Well recently there as been a witness of noble standing that a Jewess maiden was studying ways on which to best conduct a _bloodletting!_”

The room was thrown into chaos. 

“Without evidence or witness to this accusation it is nothing more than a fabricated lie,” the rabbi snaps. “This debate has already been completed before your young priest here decided to cause this timeless argument,” he says to the frustrated Cardinal. Loew stands up and picks up his cloak and hat. “Good day to you all.”

__________

Josefov had a yeshiva—a Talmudic academy—that Rabbi Loew had founded himself. As such several young Jewish men came to Prague from afar to learn Torah and become a Hebrew scholar, or even a rabbi. They lived and learned in the yeshiva in dorms, and often they could be found milling about the town when they weren’t studying. 

Velvel Roth was from Worms, Prussia, and had been living in Prague for nearly four years. He was two years Bayla’s senior, and had come to know the Loew family personally. He was a very decent man, and had a long and profitable lineage of moneylending. He was quite learned and could read and speak in both Yiddish and Hebrew, and knew the native tongue, and his own native tongue fluently. He had made a big impression upon Perl, and more than once her foster mother made a few vague references about him being an excellent husband. 

But Bayla did not see him in that light.

“Good morning, Bayla,” Roth greeted with an ear-to-ear grin, as Bayla exited the synagogue after her morning chores. She nods politely, but not as friendly as normal. She still feels Rabbi Loew’s evident absence from the town. Yet anytime now he should be returning.

“Good morning. Are you skipping your morning class again?”

Roth went bright red, and toyed with his hat in his hands. “Um, well, I was feeling rather poorly this morning so—“

“You decided to come here?” Bayla laughs.

“To see if I can help you and your mother in anyway, of course! With the rabbi gone…”

“Sure, but don’t get sick on us now,” she teases, leaving for home. It’s not far away, but it does take a few good minutes. As early as it is the Jews of Josefov are beginning to wake up and go about their daily lives, going to work, or clearing the streets of any dirty thing. Birds begin to sing their morning songs and a cat scurry by with a small rat hanging from its mouth. Children that have yet to have bar or bat mitzvahs begin to filter out of their homes and onto the narrow streets, calling out for friends to come and play. Some wave to her, greeting her as _Morah Bella_, the cutesy nickname they gave the French orphan when she decided to sit the smaller children down to do a bit of Torah learning on Shabbat. 

Velvel rolls his shoulders and sticks his hands into his pockets. Taking a deep breath, he starts, “Actually, Bayla, I was uh, wondering if you’d be able…”

“Yeah?” She responds absently, fingering through a book on Rashi commentary. 

“I mean I’d like to ask if you’d be interested in, uh, I mean to say, perhaps we could—“

“Yes?”

He takes in another deep breath, and tries to say what he wants very quickly. “Bayla, I’d like to get a shed—“

_“He’s back! Rabbi Loew is back!”_

Bayla and Roth look up in surprise to see the people pointing toward the distance, where the acclaimed rabbi was making his way to them—specifically Bayla. He did not look particularly happy, but the rabbi was never one to loose his temper, but today he did look a little solemn. Perhaps he was in deep thought and forgot himself. 

“Rabbi! Welcome back!”

“Bayla. Velvel,” he greets. “Bayla, come home soon. I have a little matter to discuss.”

Worried, and somehow feeling as thought she were in trouble, the girl nodded and followed her foster parent back to their house, with Roth following hurriedly, looking a bit frustrated despite being glad, too, that Loew was back safely. 

“The debate went smoothly,” Loew tells her and Perl once they get inside and get over the welcomes. “Until the end. A Jew can scream himself black and blue with all the evidence in the Torah to provide proof, but there will be those who refuse to listen to reason.”

Perl covered her mouth and pinched her brows together. “How so?”

“The blood libels go back hundreds of years—and with seemingly plenty of past references of murdered children on their side, I can say ‘it’s not true’ all I wish, but it will be in vain, I’m afraid. I do not think every priest present that day will believe it so, but there as been a report that a person of high status witnessed a young Jewess learning matters of blood.”

Eyes zeroed in on her.

“Oh no,” she gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Oh no no no! This is my fault! If I—“

“You couldn’t have seen the future,” Loew reassures her. “But I do not think it is wise of you to keep traveling out of Josefov on your own.”

“No, it’s not that!” She cried, but not reputing the rabbi’s request. “It’s Lord Gaston!”

They share confused looks.

“He’s just some—A French noble who liked to talk to me, that’s all” Perl frowns in disapproval. “But last time he demanded that he wants me as his wife, and said that I’d regret not accepting his proposal. This is my fault!”

Perl sucks in a quick breath, and moves quickly to wrap the girl up in her arms. 

“Bayla,” the woman said. “As Yehuda said you can’t see into the future, and you did the right thing. Don’t think that by marrying that man that it would have saved us from Blood Libels—I’m afraid that the rabbi is right. People will believe what they want to believe.”

“But blood isn’t even _kosher,”_ she hisses furiously. 

“Yes, and some think we poison wells and have hooves and horns, or seek to steal all their money. So stop kicking yourself! We’re in a brand new era and our people are very blessed compared to other places.”

Rabbi Loew nods. “So all I ask is that you stay inside Josefov for now—at least until the Pesach and Easter holidays have commenced, or if you have a chaperone. Agreed?”

~.~.~.~

They didn’t need to wait till Pesach or Easter before several anti-Jewish propaganda started to pop up in the gentile public. 

A few days after Loew returned to Josefov, there were more reports of Jews being spit at and harassed in marketplaces than within the last twenty years. Several Jew businesses reported having been boycotted by several non-Jewish customers. Talk of “those evil Jews” once again begun to spring up in a few religious Catholic groups. As such Josefov grew very tense, and word got around that a few yeshiva boys had left Prague for Moravia. 

They didn’t need to wait for the holidays before more serious crimes begun to happen.

It was almost a month after Rabbi Loew returned from his debate that a public spectacle occurred—which broke several Jewish souls. A young Jewish couple went out to a gentile market one day, when a drunken man approached them and openly grabbed onto the Jewess’s breast in public. The husband immediately responded by attacking the drunk goy with fists. The fight swiftly ended when officers arrived at the scene to demand an explanation. With several witnesses to back the story up, the officer chose the obvious coarse of action. 

He arrested the Jew, for breaking the peace and causing harm to another, and the drunk was let go with nothing more than a warning. The drunk was not held responsible for groping the woman because he was intoxicated and therefore not thinking clearly, therefore unable to be held accountable for his actions. The Jew was the one to throw the first punch in a _petty_ matter.

Songs of prayer were done as solemnly as possible, yet Jews took to either praying longer or not at all. Wives grew silent, no longer the busybodies or open nurturers they often were. Even children were no longer found crowding the streets, staying inside with their siblings or mothers, while the men stayed at synagogue or seemed to never leave the house. 

There were no festivities or weddings being planned, and any circumcisions or bar mitzvahs that occurred were not so widely celebrated as before. 

There was a single word that hovered over several people’s mind, yet no one dared to say it. The gates were firmly closed from inside at night and were no longer held open all day, instead only opening when someone was coming or going. No one ventured out alone, and no one tried to have conversations with a non-Jew. Those wealthy enough to hire a Shabbat goy, a non-Jew to help in the house on Saturday, were exceedingly careful not to bother them in any way.

The Loew household grew a bit tense, too. Shabbat meals were quieter than before, no longer filled with passionate talks concerning this or that. Perl took to cooking more by herself, shooing the maids away, and Bayla could not find any children to teach, as they did not go anywhere alone anymore.

The rabbi remained more subbed, too, and this did surprise the shell-shocked Jewess. He always had some inspiring thing to stay, but lately he just stroked his long white beard and stared into space, thinking very deeply on something. Bayla tried not to think of the looming holidays and took to finding solace in the synagogue’s attic.

Hell finally broke loose a month before Pesach, and a few days shy of the Fast of Esther. A Jew by the name of Ivan Solomon, a well-known moneylender who had his own practice outside of the ghetto, did not return home to his family one night. It caused no worry, for he was known to stay late working. He was found in front of the gates in the early morning. He had been dumped there, beaten to death, and robbed of his personal possessions. He was nearly unrecognizable, and the corpse would have been given to government officials if he hadn’t been found naked, showing he was circumcised. 

The hysterical screams of Ivan’s wife is what awoke the town’s people before the roosters. 

Officers found Solomon’s practice to have been broken into, wrecked, and robbed. Several non-Jews owed Ivan a good bit of money, and there was a list of such people who were in debt to the Jew—yet officers told Josefov’s mayor that all leads were led to dead ends. The case was closed before the week was out. 

The people of Josefov were outraged by the injustice, but hysteria won over any thoughts on standing up for themselves. The working men stormed the mayor’s house and dragged him out of bed, demanding to know what will happen to them and their families come the high holidays. The town hall was flooded with chaos and arguing. Rabbis and Jewish government officials, farmers and businessmen, all of them seemed to come together in a collective body run by one singular mind, a mind that feared one word that no one dared say. Until now.

_“Pogrom! They’re planning another pogrom!”_ Someone shouted above the mayhem in the town hall. Maisel, both the Jewish communal leader and the Minister of Finance, flinched at all the accusations and hysterical beliefs. He still hadn’t woken up properly and yet this was the biggest thing to happen since the brief Jewish expulsion he and his family went through nearly twenty years ago. 

Standing in the back, having been pushed inside by the stampede of people, Bayla Shwartz looked on in equal terror. Bayla was convinced her heart was most heavy, for if she hadn’t thrown that noble’s proposal in his face, perhaps none of this would have happened. Maisel tried to take order of the room. “Please! Calm down! There has been no talk of a pogrom!”

“We are sitting ducks here! We need to leave before our families are slaughters before our eyes!” 

“We Jews have lived in Prague for over five hundred years! Even when we’ve been expelled from the lands we always return!”

“Upon a new Emperor’s say-so!”

“Please, my friends! Take a breath and think about this rationally—“

“My wife,” started a booming voice from the crowd. A man got up on a chair and loomed over the others in the room, effectively silencing several others. Everyone turned their eyes to him, glaring. “My wife and I have tried to have children for years. We finally accepted that Hashem didn’t wish us to have any. But then a miracle—! My wife gave birth not a week ago. But she is ill, and has been taken by the deep sadness of a woman post-birth. Our baby daughter, Rivka, is very weak and the healer has little hope she’ll survive. We have lived in Prague all our lives, had been taken out by the previous Emperor, only to return and resume our old lives when we could return once more. For twenty years we have had what we might call a golden age! Our children who know nothing else besides the insides of these walls! Our _lives_ are here. Do you expect us to leave—“

“I never suggested that,” Maisel huffed.

“—and to be no better than cornered rabbits in a hole in the ground, with a hungry wolf blocking our only escape? That wolf can get in, though! The gates can be locked from the outside, too, Mayor!”

This seemed to feed into the room’s general hysteria.

“Are we to get up and leave as if we are nomads? Were shall we go? We are the biggest Jewish settlement in _all of Bohemia!_” 

“_Settle down, sir!_”

“_No matter what the Jew always looses!_”

“_There will be no pogrom—_”

**“SILENCE!”**

The command worked like magic, and unlike the man who had gotten on the chair to address the room, this voice silenced them for the sheer authority of it.

Loew, with Perl beside him, made their way inside and the people parted for the elder like the Sea of Reeds did for Moses. Perl spotted Bayla, who was being squished in the crowd and well hidden behind much taller people, and swiftly pulled the girl free. She clutched the girl to her, before turning her head around again to see if she could find one of her daughters or son-in-laws in the mass of people.

“Maisel is right,” Loew said once the people settled a bit. The mayor let out a heavy sigh of relief and collapsed onto a chair. “We have lived in Prague for over five hundred years. The modern Jew would not have survived the hardships he has faced in the past, if he wasn’t strong as a rock. Or as stubborn as one.” 

The room actually cracked a few smiles at that.

“But even a rock will be worn down from the constant power of an element as seemingly harmless as water. We are in the Hebrew year of 5340! We have survived thousands of years, and are without a doubt the most prosecuted people in the kingdoms. How are we surviving? Because we won’t back down, as did the Israelites when they fled Egypt and spent all those years in the dessert. Hashem did not give us hands and brains for nothing—we must stand for ourselves and this hysteria will help no one! This stress, sir,” Loew looked toward the man who had fed into the chaos, “will it help your wife? Will it help your newborn daughter? Will it help my grandchildren be proud of their heratige and faith? Will it help my adopted daughter find a good husband? No, nor will it stop our oppressors from harming our children, our wives, or our livelihoods.”

“We are not fighters,” the new father said in defeat, now looking on the verge of tears. “I am but cobbler.”

“Then we must make ourselves a fighter.”

Several sets of eyes in the room swished around to find the soft, feminine answer that responded to the morose statement. 

Bayla did not quite realize she had spoken. The simple, naive answer had slipped from her lips before she could even stop herself. Instantly her whole face went beat-red and she clenched her skirts in her hands. Yet, her response wasn’t so childish, and to her surprise, there were some who looked at her in serious agreement. She had always wanted to have a chance to be brave. Most of her adolescence was spent in comfort, having been blessed with a wealthy couple to foster her. But now she felt like it was her time to prove publicly of a Jewess’s worth. She was more than a housekeeper or a breeder. She was a _woman_, and it was about time the men were reminded of the woman’s worth.

Why shouldn’t these men stand up for themselves? In countless books, the Hebrew nation was portrayed as a fearsome people, sages wise and knowledgable, their faith strong and unyielding. But today, the common Jew did little in response to his enemy, used to being the public scapegoat. Moneylending was a profitable business, but it was one of the few businesses that was Jew-friendly, and often hated by those in debt. 

Since she had the floor, so to speak, Bayla took a breath and spoke her mind. This little woman was about to shake some sense into them. 

“What did the Maccabees think? That they were too few and too weak in number?” She demanded, throwing her arms up. “If they had run away what would have happened to us as a people? No damned latkes I can say that!”

More laughter.

The blue-eyed maiden felt empowered to be listened to. Before now she was always found busy being quiet with a book, never having needed to raise her voice since she was little and having a fit. Now, she stood before the roomful of her fellows like the Prophetess Devorah, and felt no less important than that. She pushed her thick hair out of her face and addressed the room once more. “We are more than a religion. This is our way of life. And we must take comfort that the Emperor has not raised a hand toward us negatively. By dragging our feet before Pesach surely will make the outside world suspicious. We cannot be stay strong if we are running amuck like headless chickens—_are we chickens, or are we Jews!?”_

And from the young maiden’s words, the people of Josefov held faith once more. Loew and Perl smiled in pride.

~.~.~.~ 

Hours later when the town finally settled, and men begun to look toward ways to defend their family and friends, one man stayed up and went to his synagogue. He sat there and replayed the evening’s events in his mind, pleased with the wisdom and strength in Moshe’s daughter.

The Jewish women in days past had been molded by the cultures of the land they inhabited. Jewish laws and values were often ignored or forgotten in favor of being socially acceptable, and many Jews did not realize the significance of a good woman. The woman had power, often untapped by oppressive environments. She had the ability to either make or break man. Bayla had shown that fearless inner strength and Loew would not deny he felt proud. He prayed she would find her _bashert_. Her man would be very blessed indeed.

It was also worrisome to discover a goyish nobleman had taken such an interest in the girl. The rabbi (or his wife) had yet to tell Bayla this for they didn’t want to worry her, but a servant had already approached the ghetto’s gates with a letter of another marriage proposal. 

Despite it being often denied by others, Loew was a firm believer in the Talmudic sage’s philosophy concerning family matters, and one of these laws was that a wedding was not legally binding unless the woman consents, because it is her word that is the driving force in a home. A husband would protect Bayla from this noble, but Loew did not want, nor could he legally in accordance to Jewish law, forcibly betroth her to someone. Velvel was a nice young lad, but Loew knew Bayla had yet to express interest in those matters. 

But Loew wasn’t thinking of Bayla’s future nuptials right now. He was thinking of what she said earlier. _“Then we must make ourselves a fighter.”_

Make ourselves a fighter, indeed. He stroked his beard and got up, put on his cloak, went home, kissed his wife’s cheek, and then went to his office, where he locked himself away and lit a candle to illuminate the dark room. He opened a cabinet and took out a book—a very old book that he did not wish for Bayla or Perl to read, for he knew they would not quite understand. It was a book with no author, no commentary. He understood the book’s secrets, and though he thought it wasn’t anything truly special it was needed. The people were prospering more than ever, and the imminent feeling of doom that had seeped into the town upon the discovery of Ivan Solomon’s body could not be truly eradicated with one woman’s words, no matter how strong. And they were not fighters.

_“Then we must make ourselves a fighter.”_

Loew tucked the book into his cloak, got up, went out, kissed his wife’s cheek, and stepped out into the cold night, intent to speak to two of his most trusted disciples.

~.~.~.~

Bayla awoke before the sunrise. There were still stars in the sky, and she thought that perhaps it would be hours yet before the first rooster crowed. She was unable to sleep, and something kept nagging at the back of her head. 

Perhaps it was stress. It felt good to do something as big as speaking to the people, but it was a bit draining. She was tired, and wanted to sleep, but her eyes remained opened and would not give in no matter how many times she rolled over.

Fed up, she threw off her blanket and got dressed, grabbed a book off her shelf, and stepped out into the house. No one was up, and she tiptoed passed her foster parent’s rooms. She got the keys on the table and went out, softly closing the front door behind her. 

Naturally she went straight to the synagogue. Her mind was busy tonight and something felt off, as if the air had changed direction, yet tonight was quiet and still. All she could hear were her feet padding the ground, until she reached the back of the synagogue and climbed the steps to her alcove. 

She lit a candle and placed it on the one little table she kept here, illuminating the small room. There was a cluster of baby owls that eyed her when she sat down and cracked open her book.

And she heard voices.

Instantly she picked out Loew’s voice, along with two other men inside the synagogue below her. It was not unusual for the men to study deep into the night, arguing over matters and such. But why tonight? And why only three men? Bayla put down her book and laid down, pressing her ear as close to the little hole in the floor as possible. 

“…as such we should go now…”

“…my wife will wonder why I…”

“…cannot wait any longer…”

“…she’s right, we need to make a f…”

“…no one can know...“

She strained to hear—they were speaking too softly, and it was growing softer, and she guessed they were leaving the synagogue now.

“…will stay with my family…”

Bayla knew they were not talking Torah—it was an important matter, and she became instantly curious and a million possible reasons flitted through her head. Were they going to take her seriously? Maybe have the yeshiva boys practice self defense?

Soon enough she heard the doors below close, and the voices stopped. Quickly, she blew out the candle and gathered her skirts up, flew down the stairs and jogged upfront. 

She saw the form of three men walk to the front of town, and wondered if she should follow. They were not headed to the academy, but rather the gates. Where were they going? What was so important? Had something happened? Had another Jew been attacked? Did they leave to go try to find someone who had not returned to town this night?

She huffs, her breath fogging out into the chilly night. She tightens her shawl around her shoulders and turns to the synagogue. Then she turns to the men. Call her idiotic but today she had felt invincible. And something woke her up tonight and drove her outside. Had an angel awoken her? She was no prophetess, she was the unmarried orphan of poor French Jews, yet something had felt wrong to her. Something had pulled her out of bed, and though irrational, her heart seemed to be leading her on. Her father’s heart had taken them here, and it killed him, but as the rabbi suggested, it might have been his destiny to bring his only daughter to Prague. Bayla often wondered what her destiny was. 

So stupidly, and perhaps a good bit dangerously, Bayla grips her shawl and marches after the men.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NEXT CHAPTER IS ALLLL ABOUT OUR VERY MUCH DESIRED GOLEM RUMPLE :D
> 
> Another historical note: Moneylending was a very common Jewish practice in the Middle Ages, and it was one of the few jobs a Jew could have outside of a city's Jewish quarter. It probably started about uuuuuh 12th or 13th century? Churches and landowners often hired Jews to collect money or to charge interest, as they didn't want to be burdened with the sin of usury. BUT if a Jew does it they don't get blamed with the sin. And Jews jumped for the job opportunity as they were predominantly poor and forbidden to most public jobs. From then on moneylending practices seemed to be heavily Jewish. 
> 
> >The ketubah, the Jewish marriage contract, does state that a man is obligated to see to his wife's intimate needs, not only for the sake of reproduction. Talmudic sages talk about sex in a surprisingly liberal manner...Of course, there is something referred to as "kosher sex", (i.e. to not "spill his seed on the ground [like not inside her]" or touching her while she's on her period) but the bottom line is a man can do whatever he may please with his wife, as long as she is consensual to it and wants it just as well. 
> 
> >"shidduchim" or "shidduch" is basically Jewish dating.


	4. Miracles to Magics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bayla witnesses the unexplainable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOOOOOO in my haste to write, and with the sole intention to reach Passover, I completely forgot Purim existed XD
> 
> (Which according to date will happen a little month before Passover)
> 
> I'm also tired and I need to get ready for Shabbat myself--It's a short chapter, but worth it. 
> 
> AND THIS IS NOW WHERE I BEND FACTS AND STUFF FOR MY PLEASURE ALONE

The night was cold and quiet, yet the young beauty’s fierce attempts to keep her steps and breath quiet, she still sounded like bangs and screams to her ears. The only thing guiding her path was the light of the moon and the footsteps the three learned scholars left in their trail ahead of her. She followed the footprints at a safe distance, but close enough for her to see them clustered together—not to fight the cold, but they seemed deep in thought, or quiet conversation. Bayla, feeling bold and unlike herself, but found the exhilaration of feeling so warmed her chilled flesh.

The men walked straight through the Old Town and went around toward the Vltava river. Trees spotted around the river, and the damp earth near the water’s edge was easily seen even in the dark. Everyone warned their children to be careful near the river, because the steep clay found there was often wet and slippery, causing many fall-ins. The moon shone on the damp earth and rocks and smooth stones littered all around, and from where she was standing the ground looked like shades of dark green and grays. 

Bayla scrunched her eyes up. What on earth were they doing? Water was fetched from the river for their town’s mikvah, and she highly doubted they all decided for a little spiritual cleansing this time at night. 

The men stopped near the water’s edge, their shoes nearly leaving the safety of the dewy grass. With her brows pinched together in confusion, Bayla crept over to a large tree, where she leaned against to hide most of her body but stuck her head out to watch them. Her curiosity burned enough to warm her further. 

Loew opened his cloak and removed a thin book, a small stone no bigger than her pinkie toe, and a gold necklace with a heavy red jewel, which he gripped in his hand. “Are we all in agreement?”

“We discussed the matter for several hours,” one of Loew’s students said seriously, though the third man, the youngest of the three, looked to be on the verge of wetting himself. 

“Then we shall begin. As before I will remind you of the oaths you took to keep this private. No one must know of what is to happen this night.”

“But how will you keep it secret? You can’t hide this away forever.”

Loew presented the ruby on the gold chain. It glinted in the moonlight. “This amulet will grand a disguise, so anyone who is not witnesses to its true face will see nothing unordinary. We will see him as he is, so you must grow accustomed to however it may look, to not draw suspicion.” 

The older of the two students, nearer to Loew’s age, nodded contently. “What will his story be? Especially to your wife, if the thing’s to stay with you.”

“I have that covered. Now, we must begin. Meyer, you represent the Fire element. Lavi, you are the Water. I shall be the Air, and Hashem has provided us with the earth below our very feet. ”

The three men then stepped aside and all stood in three corners like the side of a triangle, leaving a breadth of nearly six feet between them. Loew twisted his feet until his shoes dug into the wet earth. Despite the novelty of witnessing this utter madness Bayla could still think of Perl throwing a fit at seeing the rabbi’s muddy shoes. And it was madness—amulet? What nonsense is her foster father and teacher speaking of? What was “it” they needed to keep secret?

With the two others doing the same, they suddenly shed their cloaks, rolled up their shirt sleeves, and bent down, mindless of the fact their tzitzits were dirtied in the process. The fact she could see their tzitzits shocked her.

In profound bewilderment Bayla watched the three men trace their fingers into the malleable earth and do the unexpected. They traced out the silhouette of a person.

And then suddenly Bayla knew what they were trying to do.

_Dear Hashem in Heaven_, she thought in disbelief. The absolute insane realization was more bizarre than seeing these great sages get down and dirty in the mud before sunrise. 

Bayla remembers learning a passage in one of her books that tells the story of a group of sages that were traveling on Shabbat and had no food. They remedied this by using the hidden power in the mysterious _Sefer Yetzirah_ (Book of Creation) to create a calf out of dust, which they prepared and ate. This was an example of the hidden depths of Kabbalah—esoteric Judaic mysticism. Another story spoke of a Kabbalist that tried to form a man from the ground (as God had done with Adam). But the Kabbalist’s companion immediately destroyed the entity, because the “man” was not truly a man, and commentaries went to say it was because the entity had no speech. Speech, which implied the complexity of a human mind and soul. It was a soulless image of a man. 

This entity is called a golem. 

The Hebrew translation of the word _golem_ meant something that was underdeveloped or incomplete, like a painting or sculpture that had yet to be finished—yet, she had only read the word once or twice in certain contexts, vague and never truly expounded upon. 

Perl had told her stories of golems when Bayla was much younger—a cautionary tale that had the lesson to be humble and careful for what one does. She told the girl of a young rabbi who made one to show his knowledge of Kabbalah, but was badly injured when his creation became uncontrolable. Golems were some inhuman shadow of a person, formed from earthly materials like dust, dirt, mud, or clay. Hence the creator of a golem was often met with tragedy, for the creature soon grows too powerful and independent.

_Why are they doing this?_ She shouted inwardly, watching the men mold the dark river clay and mud to shape the loose outline of a person. Bayla felt the trembles of horror begin in her heart, but she was unable to lie to herself—she was enthralled by the sight. Her more practical mind said this wasn’t possible. This was—_magic. Or is it a miracle?_ But Kabbalah was for the powers of good, so it wasn’t considered black magic, for only deeply learned men could do such fictional feats. Fictional! Bayla wanted to bet that this would be fruitless and dumb, but the men looked so serious and she always trusted Loew’s word.

And yet, if it could happen… she could hardly imagine. She believed in the Torah and sought to do mitzvahs, to unlock the more hidden depths and coded messages and lessons, but never had she seen anything like…

The men stood up and went back to their spots. They were silent for a moment.

And then Loew began to chant in Biblical Hebrew.

Bayla’s eyes widened as the air started to whirl, and the wind blew around the area of men, powerful enough that she felt it chill her face, making her gooseflesh even tighter. She pulled her arms around herself, frightened and amazed and freezing all at once.

The second man, the apparent “fire” element, begun to chant as well, in time with the older rabbi. 

The ground between the tree men rumbled and turned red, the lines of the drawn man in the ground glowed a fiery red like light was shining through beneath the earth. Smoke rose from the ground and sparked like matchs being struck. She wanted to cover her ears from the sudden loud sounds of fire and violent winds, which gradually blew harder. Momentarily forgetting how cold it was tonight, Bayla let go of her arms and hugged the tree trunk. 

And finally the youngest rabbi joined in, his voice smoother and hardest to hear, yet all of their voices begun to rise over the chaos being brewed around them. Bayla could do nothing but stare with her eyes and mouth open wide.

Water suddenly come up from the ground, rising up and around the area between the chanting men, who had begun to bow and sway, praying (or incanting?) loudly with passion. The wind, fire, and water swirled together into the damp earth—the water and fire screeched and sizzled, the wind carrying the smoke away, hitting Bayla in the eyes. She winced and ducked her head and tried to curl into herself, covering her mouth from the sudden smell of strong incense.

And then the men stopped their chanting. 

The supernatural weather stopped as if it had never begun, and all was suddenly so quiet that Bayla could heart her heartbeat furiously in her ears, her breath coming in short pants. When she realized all had stopped, she straightened up and peeked out from behind the tree.

The rabbis stood as they were, around the ground that suddenly seemed as if nothing had happened—but there was a mound there now, and it looked like the form of a man buried face-up in the mud.

Loew reached down and, using his pinkie finger, traced three small letters onto the head. She could not see what he wrote. 

And the mound began to change.

Hair sprouted from the hair, a nose was formed, a split opened from the face and a mouth was formed, lips, nostrils, a chin, a forehead, eyes. Arms and legs, a chest, and something sprouted between the legs—Bayla blushed furiously.

And then, where the mud use to be, was a naked man.

But he was _wrong_, like the surface of something that had been dead and stuck in the mud for far too long. His limbs too thin, his arms a bit too long, fingers were spidery, his feet only showing two claw-like toes on each foot. His skin was pebbled here and there—that must of been from small rocks, embedded into his flesh. His face looked off, too. His eyeslids too big and too sunken, ears pointed just so slightly, and his hair long and curly like water weeds. His body seemed to sparkle in the light—Bayla could not pull her eyes away, but knew the new day was approaching. She’s late for wok.

Loew then bent down and opened the mouth of the humanoid sculpture, and held up the little stone he had earlier. He stuck it somewhere into the golem’s oral cavity. Then, Loew closed the mouth of the creature. He snapped his fingers. 

And the golem opened pitch-yellow glowing eyes. 

“Stand up.” Loew said with unbreakable authority as if he had done this countless times before. The golem immediately sat up, staring straight ahead. He—or it—stood up like a wooden doll, immobile and oblivious to his immodesty. 

“I am Rabbi Yehuda Loew ben Bezalel, and there are my companions (names). Your name is Yosef Gold. You will respond to that name and obey my word. Do you understand?” Loew asked the golem in Hebrew, to which the thing _growled_ in response. Bayla shivered at the sound.

“If you are submerged in water, you will not drown. If you fall from great heights you will not be harmed. If I command you to spear yourself with a sword, you will not feel pain. Gold, you are to protect the Jewish inhabitants of Josefov. You are not to harm any innocent or youth. Do you understand?”

Again, the golem grunts. His eyes burn like fire, as if already angry for being brought to life.

“Very good.” Loew waves to one of the men, and he goes off to get his coat, where he pulls out a sack. They pull out a set of shabby clothes and dress the humanoid creature. Then Loew puts the amulet on the golem, dresses him, and continues to speak to the creation in the language in which it was made, giving soft instructions—she couldn’t hear them well enough to tell what it was about.

Before Bayla could even remember herself at the present time, standing in disbelief at the sight she had just witnessed, the men, who were three when they arrived, are now four as they leave. She had just witnessed the impossible, and yet all she could think of was being late to work.

Before they are at a distance for her to follow, the golem turns his head around and instantly pierces her with a fierce glare that makes her heart nearly stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said "rumple won't turn human" in the tags--
> 
> I wished the Beast stayed beastly because Belle fell in love with him in that form. In her eyes, the beast became beautiful _to her_ despite his ghastly form. I prefer that verison to the Beast turning into some ugly ass prince. So no "true love's kiss" is gonna turn him into a human. Sorry guys if you're upset by that... but yall that know me should've expected that, lol.
> 
> Anyway no Jew-trivia this time... it’s been a long day at work and I felt like this part deserved its own chapter. Next update will be more story-paced
> 
> And warnings before chapters will start to appear. Violence and blood shed being one, and some sexual themes later on. I will warn you now next chapter might have a graphic depiction of a “shechking”:Kosher slaughter.
> 
> There’s a horrible PETA video out there on a kosher slaughter house and it’s terrible and gross and antisemetic.


	5. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josefov is anxious for Passover to arrive- and with it the blood libels. But the people try to find joy in the upcoming festivities of a different holiday. Bayla runs into an unwelcome foe and forms an uneasy ally in the golem of Prague. Marriage is on the horizon, but Bayla decides to take things into her own hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, did you know that the Yiddish word for gold is gold? 
> 
> -
> 
> Okay, so I mentioned before there's this fucking PETA video out there on a kosher slaughterhouse in Iowa. 
> 
> Fuck PETA, for one.
> 
> Kosher meat is expensive because it's gonna be slaughtered (Shehitah) by a Jew certified to do the slaughter (a shohet), needs to be drained of blood and salted, yadda yadda yadda. With the rising demand for kosher beef, a kosher slaughterhouse is busy and swamped with cows brought in from the fields. Especially with cheaper, big-named organizations, the cows can get jostled around a bit and it does look kinda mean. Secondly, I'm kinda against the "shackle-and-hoist" method, which the cow is hung up by its back leg(s) so the slice of the throat can be done properly. That way the cow is just there so the blood can drain out, making it easier than killing the cow and then hanging it up.
> 
> However, PETA hates all slaughterhouses and flipped out at all the cows being hung up so the blood can drain out, and the cows being cut open so the insides are looked at and all that nasty jazz. Because of this video, of the horrible "truth behind kosher slaughter", the Internet's freaking out that Jews abuse the animals and are cruel and yadada yadda.
> 
> What most goys don't know is that the cut made on the neck is meant to go through all those major stuff located here--esophagus, trachea, carotid arteries, and jugular veins. By doing this the animal has an immediate drop in blood pressure, and the pain receptors are cut off. The animal has a very quick, painless death. When the cut is made correctly, the cow's already dead before five seconds. It's not kosher if the cut wasn't made correctly if the animal was injured before being killed, or even if the knife wasn't right. 
> 
> Requirements for a kosher animal is split hooves and chewing of the cud. On a cow all the meat before the 13th rib is kosher, the back part of he cow is usually sold to gentiles. For fish, it's got to have fins and scales. 
> 
> SO, WARNING: mild description of a dead animal and one being killed.

Perl has lived a good life. She had traveled far with her family—from Poland to Bohemia; first to Moravia and now in Prague. She had successfully given birth to seven beautiful children, all of which were grown with families of their own. Perl knew not many Jewish women such as she were as blessed. She was past the ability to bare anymore children (unless she was Sarah!), yet Perl was still able to take care of her responsibilities. Practically ancient, but not like her husband, who was all white hairs.

She had been married off at a very young age to a much older man by her older brother, since their father had passed. Being betrothed off to wealthier men wasn’t so unusual to the young girls in town—but when she met Yehuda, he asked her, straight on and dead-serious, if she contented to being married. Obviously her answer had found her years later in a very cushy life, with strong children and a husband who loved and respected her. They had avoided much prosecution in their time. Yes, Perl was happy and content.

When Ariella was preparing to marry her future-husband, Perl believed that her life would finally settle—she suspected they would be here for the rest of their lives, be buried in the cemetery beside her husband’s synagogue. But Perl was never content with quiet. While she was a wife first to Yehuda, she was also the mother to her children, who were no longer children, and the queen of her household and commander of her maids. Yet with all this she was not content, and something felt lacking in her life. 

She might not be as sagely as her husband, but she knew, she _knew_, that on the night that terribly ill and half-starved Jewish Frenchman came to their door to see the rabbi, Perl knew something would happen. Sure enough, word of Moshe Shwartz the refugee had died, and his daughter an orphan. 

“Bring her here,” she told her husband. “Bring that poor little girl here.”

And Yehuda did—a shaking, sniveling dirty little thing made of skin and bone, so much smaller than she should be, and staring at every like like she wanted to break it or burst into tears. Perl had already claimed her the moment she saw her.

Bayla was just as much her daughter as her six other girls, but Bayla still distanced herself from them, remaining an independent young woman who had no pressures on being married, or sealing families ties. No siblings to quarrel with, no food to fight over. No room or toys to share. She had all the chances to be spoiled to the bone, and her fosterers inclined to let her, but instead of the luxury that was available to her, she took to Perl and Yehuda’s view of things and found the highest treasure in knowledge. 

Bayla was seventeen now—past the usual age to marry, but not yet a spinster. But Perl hesitates or holds her tongue when she tries to encourage her to see the matchmaker, but Perl herself wants to give her a nudge in that handsome young yeshiva boy’s way—Velvel, wasn’t it? While she disapproved of his ogling of her, Perl knew that boy would kiss the ground Bayla walked on with gratitude.

Perl thinks of these things, her last child to marry and see off, as she wakes up the morning after her brave little girl had taken the town hall by storm. No, Velvel would not be a good match for Bayla. She was too hungry for knowledge and adventure, too filled with potential to be a small rabbi’s wife, shipped off to Prussia. Prague was all Bayla knew in regards to her heritage! Perl knew her girl would not be happy there, nor would she find it in Velvel. He was a good boy, and make a good husband, but not good enough for Bayla.

She stops her musings when the front door opens to reveal her husband. Which is a bit unusual—he’s much earlier than usual. He’s up before his wife most days, and doesn’t come back home until his morning services are complete—a bit after breakfast is ready.

“Yeh—Oh!” 

Her husband walks in with a stranger in tow, and gives her one of those cryptic little smiles of his. “Perl’la, dear, this is Yosef Gold, a distant cousin of mine…”

This strange, her husband’s “distant cousin” (she didn’t believe that for one second), was not a very tall man, but he had wiry muscles and seemed fine enough, besides the fact he looked to be in a bad mood and hadn’t spoken a word. Yosef was mute, Yehuda explained, and did not understand much language other than Hebrew—very odd. 

Yosef looked normal enough. He was lean, with the kind of olive skin from days long in the sun, and had a strong Roman nose that made him look quite proud. His skin was a bit craggily. His hair was long, not so unusual for the times. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties yet a few silvery hairs streaked his mane. A bachelor with no family—besides this “distant cousin”. 

Yehuda gave her no time to really dig into this strange man’s reason for being hear, as he directed his “cousin” to his office, where he said Yosef would be sleeping. Perl was on edge, because despite her husband’s cryptic manner about all this, something about the stranger rubbed her the wrong way. 

Perl did not see Bayla all morning, which was not unusual. She, too, left the house early—perhaps the earliest of both foster parents. But she did not come for breakfast, and did not come to switch out a book or wash up. Bayla showed up hours later, looking pale and swaying on her feat. The rebbetzin rushed her over to the back of the house where she told the girl to bath and go to bed, feeding her a bit of bread and cheese. Bayla refused, saying her stomach was ill, and went to her room without another word.

Perl shakes her head. She wanted what was best for the orphan, and prayed she would find her bashert soon.

~.~.~

There’s a monster at the dinner table.

And no one cares.

Or, better yet, no one notices the monster. Rabbi Loew just smiles enigmatically when he tells Bayla that Yosef Gold is a distant cousin of his, straight from the Land of Israel—Tzfat, to be exact. Perl and the maids pass their eyes over the man and apparently see just that—a normal man. 

But Bayla does not. She sees the sparkling, scrawny, gray-skinned form of a humanoid thing, with bright yellow eyes with no pupil or whites. Just two glowing yellow orbs where eyes should be, like looking at a candle flame from behind glass. She wonders if Perl knew her husband was a _actual magician_.

She jolts when she feels a slight nudge against her foot. Bayla looks up and sees Perl giving her a quick disapproval. _Don’t stare,_ she can hear the unspoken rebuke. Bayla tries to focus on her supper of chicken and potatoes, but can’t help it. Soon enough she finds herself giving quick, frequent glances at the so called “man”.

When supper—which is mostly quiet with Perl and Loew speaking of this and that to “Gold”, which the golem just grunts at when it’s “appropriate”— is winding down, and a maid takes away the dishes and glasses, Gold finally looks up and meets Bayla’s gaze.

They stare at one another for some time until Perl calls for her from the kitchen. Yet in that time they lock gazes and don’t blink, neither making any sort of move.

She looks away, stands up, and rushes out of the room.

~.~.~.~

The Fast of Esther arrived sooner than Bayla expected—it was tomorrow, a Monday, and Purim would begin that night, and observances bled into Tuesday and Wednesday. As Purim was a grand festive holiday, despite the morose atmosphere the previous weeks had caused to inflict the town of Josefov, people were truly trying to make an effort to be joyous for the occasion. 

Purim was a good story to retell in these depressing times of the year, especially now with the people waiting with fear for the next blood libel. While the more religious Jews looked forward to the fast, to pray and plead to God to protect the people for another year, others looked to prep for the festivities fast approaching. Especially the Loew household and the surrounding community.

Every year on Purim, Josefov has grand feasts and wine and mead for everyone in the ghetto. The Altneuschul was no different, and Perl had gathered the other Jewess matrons in their community to plan out the meal, which would be eaten after the hearing of the _Megillah_ (Book of Esther). 

Since pig would never be found in the Jewish quarter of Prague, the most popular meat was mostly poultry or other fowl and fish, whereas mutton was common at Shabbat meals among the wealthier Jews. 

Beef was not often consumed, but Bayla had enjoyed it several times in the Loew household, but on high festive holidays where everyone celebrated together such as Purim, it was all but expected. 

Since Bayla was old enough, she was happy to hear that she could go into Old Town and buy spices and fruits from far away merchants looking to sell. And, other would go out to buy what would be eaten at the feasts.

Early Sunday morning found Bayla Raizel in the Loews’ stable, the hens clucking about in their roosts nearby. She was brushing out Philippe’s mane and meditating while doing so. 

The golem had unnerved her for the past few days, and guilt and horror were chewing her up. Did the rabbi know she had witnessed it? He seemed to know everything. Bayla thought she knew almost everything until that night. Then again, she didn’t know the rabbi had the power of God at the touch of his fingers. He had always been mysterious, but…

Gold, or Yosef, or whatever the mud man was, frightened her yet simultaneously fascinated her. He went against so many things Bayla took for fact, and made her question so much. Was the golem capable of independent thought? Or did Loew have to instruct him everything? 

Suddenly Philippe let out a loud whinny and reared up as if something had frightened him badly. The large gelding’s eyes widened so much she could see the flash of whites, and he leapt up onto his back legs. Bayla cries out and raises her hands to try to soothe the beast, bewildered by its behavior.

When she can grab onto the horse’s muddle and calm him somewhat, she turns around to see what had happened.

Two glowing yellow eyes meet hers, and she yelps in alarm.

“Bayla,” Perl says, coming in with Velvel Roth and one of the butchers, who’s got his own horse with him. “Now, remember what I said about you going into town! I don’t want that blasted goy to pester you again, especially if you’re by your lonesome. The boys here are off to buy some choice cows, and Gold here will look after you in market.”

_No! Don’t let that thing come with me!_ “Of course…”

Velvel gives her a bashful smile and tips his hat, to which the older man slaps him on the back. Gold gives her that unnerving stare, silent as a grave. Philippe, who’s huffing and snorting and stopping his right front hood repeatedly on the ground, is the embodiment version of what Bayla’s heart is currently doing.

Sure enough satchels of large sacks to carry goods is tied to the gelding and Bayla grabs onto the reins. The four of them are told to hurry back and set off to the gentile markets before she can even realize it. They go off to the nearest cow herder, where the butcher—a man called Haskel—and Velvel go to speak with the farmer, who eyes them warrily. When money is mentioned, the business deal goes over smoothly—and a hard glare from Gold.

They purchase two choice heifers, a bull, and one cow and its calf, which they lead out amongst themselves. Bayla has the calf and its mother, with the men with the heifers, and Gold manages the bull, which tries to run away from its inhuman handler several times. 

Sure enough, the party of horses and cows and Jews (and golem) get back to the market. Bayla, stroking her cow’s soft ears, glad to know that this cow and its calf won’t be slaughtered for the holiday. At least, not now. They would be for Pesach. She’s trying to think on that, and not that during this entire trip Gold has looked about with a very concerning, calculating stare. Like he was mapping out the area, and the faces they encountered here.

Yet if he wasn’t watching his surroundings, Gold was staring right at Bayla. 

Her heart clenched at that, and despite Loew’s instructions to the golem to protect the Jews of Josefov, she could not forget that horrible, soul-stealing glare he had given her the night he was created. Gold still looked grumpy, but the past few days he had been living with them, he just… looked at her, with his brow furrowed. He never approached her, or make any sounds at her, but pierced the young girl with his yellow eyes.

And he was doing it right now.

She found herself bashful and avoided the gray-skinned creature’s gaze, feeling her heart rate go up and her stomach twist as if she was soon to be sick. 

When they reached the marketplace Bayla tried to take of her business quickly, with Velvel’s imput and sudden strange behavior—her friend was suddenly very intent on speaking to her throughout the journey and often times stood much to close for her liking, and she thought to remind him he wasn’t allowed to touch her. Haskel was more helpful, and gave her good tips on what spices went well together, or other vegetables and fruits. Onions and potatoes, for one, and fresh seasonings in little pouches. 

Gold remained as he was—forever the watcher.

The people eyed the strange man warily. Something about his glare sent them away, and the Jews had little trouble in their business. Bayla was not harassed by anyone, and she had yet to see Lord—

“Bella!”

She frowned, her brow arching down to a deep angry expression. Yet she sighs, tells herself it’ll be fine, he can’t take her away or force her to marry him. The people of Josefov would not allow it if they knew, and if Gaston tried anything, Maisel could mention something to the Emperor and all would be taken care of.

Her male companions all looked up to see the wealthy French noble march their way with a short, bubbling servant behind him. He flashed his bright teeth and puffed out his chest, making a few maidens nearby—and wives!—blush and fan themselves.

“Have you finally come to your senses and accepted my proposal?” He asked her, slyly, in all French, which the others could not understand. 

Countering, she replies, in the native tongue, “I told you before—I will not marry you!” Several people who were nearby gasped aloud. A French noble, wanting to marry a common Jewess? What a scandal! 

Velvel reddened and leaped forward to stand in front of the maiden. “What!?”

Gaston sneered at the scrawny Jew and turned back to his object of desire. Again, he only speaks French. “I have tried to make this easy for you, and if you refuse me again this will get much harder, my lady. Look at it this way—marry me, bear my sons, and you can do whatever you may like in your free time. Back in our own country, of course.”

“Leave me alone, Gaston!”

He reaches out and grabs her arm, again, and several witnesses watch the spectacle in disbelief. Though no one tries to step in.

Except Gold.

The golem let out a low growl, and reached forward and shoved the noble back so hard that Gaston fell back and knocked his nervous servant over, and landed hard on his bottom in a pile of horse shit. Which everyone in the market who was watching found incredibly amusing, and several folks laughed aloud at the dirtied Frenchman. Bayla’s nerves are released and she finds herself letting out an uncontrollable laugh, too, but covers her mouth. She would later be horrified to find it funny, but she was glad she was no longer be squeezed. 

The man’s servant rushes to help him up, but they both stumble in the stickiness and fall again—ensuring more laughter and embarrassment to the proud man.

Haskel breaks the immobile spell that seemed to grip the Jewish party, and Velvel reached out and lightly touched the small of Bayla’s back, urging her forward. She pulls away from the male, and refocuses her eyes on something else than the flailing men in the mud. 

Gold acts like he had done nothing, but stands just as close to her as Velvel had. For the first time Bayla found it did not unnerve her as badly as before, nor did she move away when the golem tapped the part of her arm that had been nearly ripped off, and it seemed he almost broke from his usual blank expression.

~.~.~.~

Once they were back in Josefov, and the bovines that would join the others to be slaughtered for the Purim meals, Bayla was glad to get home and unload Philippe of his burden. Velvel accompanied them, and all but ran to Rabbi Loew to explain what had happened in the market. 

Loew calmed the young man down, give him a bit of water, and told him to hurry back to where he was needed for prep work. Gold went inside and sat at the table, as he had taken to doing when he had no orders to follow. He watches the people in the household, but does nothing besides look and seem void of emotion.

Perl pats Bayla’s head and gives her a few sips of wine. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner…”

“Tell me what?”

“We have received a few… letters from Lord Gaston that he wishes—well, demands—your hand in marriage.”

Bayla refuses to cry, but a horrible sense of guilt eats her up.

“He said he would make things harder for me—our people—if I keep refusing him. Oh, God…” She stands up, heart beating fast but a sense of cool, mute acceptance entered her soul as well. “I should just say yes. I could make an agreement with him—Like Queen Esther—I’ll make him promise to—“

“Absolutely not!” Perl said, beating her husband to it. “The only thing you have in relations to Esther is that it was your mother’s name! This is your home, your belief, your heritage. You will have nothing to do with that goy if it’s the last thing I stand for!”

“But, Perl!” She cried. “What will we do if he d—“

“Nothing will happen,” Loew said with total certainty. “No blood libel will have affect on Josefov this year.” Bayla glances to Gold, watching them intently. “You will marry who you wish.”

Bayla lets out a frustrated huff. “What if he petitions the Emperor? Lord Gaston has a good standing with Rudolf.”

Everyone was silent for a second. She thought she heard Gold make a little sound, but that could have been a chicken outside. 

“A ketubah would protect you…” Perl said carefully, and Loew stares into space, looking content in whatever he was thinking. “He cannot marry you if you’re already someone’s wife.”

“Then…”

“Not so fast,” Loew spoke up, calmly. “No need to go off and marry tonight.”

“We should call the matchmaker,” his wife says.

Gold, for certain this time, hums when he sees his Maker turn to him. Loew strokes his beard, and watches his creation with curious eyes.

~.~.~.~.~ 

The Fast of Esther comes, yet children are still able to eat and some are seen noshing on baked potatoes or cheeses, or milk or water. Though no adult is eating, everyone still works, and Bayla finds herself almost reluctant to go outside. Which doesn’t matter much right now, as she helps out in the kitchen where Perl and other women are moving about, baking bread and vegetables for the breaking of the fast tonight.

The fact that Bayla might have to get married so much sooner than she could believe seemed to quell her, yet not the others. Word got around that Bayla was finally ready for _shidduchim_, and Velvel gave her a rose earlier that day. It was pretty. The women in the kitchen were teasing and joking, until Bayla had about enough of it and decided to go outside, intending on ignoring the people who had already heard of what happened in the gentile market yesterday. Sure enough, they would stare at her in pity.

Perl swoops into her rescue, though, and hands her a pail to fetch water from the well. 

“Oh, walls are so romantic,” one of the older women gushed, kneading dough. 

“Like Yakov meeting Rochel at the well!” Another swooned. They were all well away it embarrassed the maiden, loving the young blush of the virgin and remembering their own early days of marriage. “Perhaps you’ll meet your own bashert there!” Giggles ensued. 

“Go fetch some water,” Perl rolled her eyes, snapping at the others to leave Bayla alone. Happy to be out of the house, she rushes out and makes her away toward the nearest well.

She hadn’t really thought about marriage much. Marriage meant her responsibility would be to her husband and household, and children would come later. She feared childbirth, of the labor pains or the deep unthinkable sadness a woman got when she lost a babe. She feared the marriage bed because a woman once told her that the first time a man “entered” her would cause some pain. How could anything go… inside her! Like that! Some spoke of it being pleasurable, but she just blanched and could not comprehend. No one really spoke of these things anyway to a maiden.

While the thought of a bashert did make her very curious, and her romantic side found much interest in it, Bayla couldn’t image being married to anyone. Even Velvel, who was sweet and trying to get close to her, couldn’t fit the place of “her future husband” in her mind. Perl had told her several years back when Bayla remarked that her Papa spoke of the bashert concept. 

_”A beshert,”_ Perl said, _“is the one who will complete you. They are the missing half of your soul. Quite literally, your soulmate. However, the word 'beshert' translates as destiny, and destiny is entirely molded by your actions.”_

Her destiny. Now that interested her. Several times the views of a Jewish wife were proud and important, yet among the less educated population, these philosophies were not spoken of much. Simple people, simple ideas, she thought.

When Bayla reaches the well she sees a man on his knees hunched over the well, with a horridly rumbled and dirtied shirt, tightly fitted trousers and riding boots. His bottom was nicely shaped, she realized to her surprise. She blinked, and almost felt like she should turn around after thinking that. But she shakes herself. Nonsense. Love at first sight. Love had to be made over time, like her love for her foster parents… No one could make the logical maiden go, _“There he is! This is the one!”_ by just a passing glance! 

When she approaches the well, the man straightens up and stares at her, his mouth full of what looks like a wet dead chicken, his hands holding what seemed to be the rest of the carcass. Water dripped from his hair, his shirt damp and soaked through.

It’s the golem, wide yellow eyes and skin like dried clay, and teeth like broken gray glass.

“Oh my goodness!” She shouts, and drops her pail and goes to him. “What are you doing!?”

“Getting a bird out,” someone said nearby, shaking his head and giving his helper a mildly disgusted look. He was a shepherd, with sheep and another hen in his arms. Sure enough the ruby around the golem’s neck was working, and everyone else saw him as just an average man—albeit a very strange one. “One of my hens fell in and drowned, poor thing.”

“Oh,” she remarked, and picked up her bucket again, and reached into the well to help remove some feathers. No blood had been spilled. Gold spits the bird out onto the ground and drops what’s in his hands. She deems the water clear enough and scoops out a pailful of water, and watches the shepherd go off with his newly-sheered sheep. New clothes were being made for the honor of Pesach. All the sheep in Josefov were sheered down and spun. 

Gold looks to her and hums, appearing to be waiting for something. Probably an order, but Loew had asked Perl and Bayla not to ask the man to do any housework what so ever. She lets out a shaky breath and smooths down her skirts, fingering her apron. 

“Hello,” she greets. 

Naturally he does not respond.

“Thank you for pushing Gaston away…” she says. “But that did seem a bit harsh.”

Gold tilts his head, his fingers fiddling together. Feeling stupid for speaking to him, she trails her eyes down to his filthy dress shirt and the wide frilly leaves. Even he’s been dressed up for the holiday. 

“You’re so rumpled,” she says without thinking, and her eyes widen immediately. She’s clumsy, in her walk and her speech! How embarrassing! But Gold does not seem offended by her statement, and looks down and plucks at his shirt, and then looks up at her. 

“Do you prefer to be called Gold?” No response. “Or Yosef?” No response.

Someone walking nearly by bumped into her, mumbling a quick apology before moving again. She yelps and quickly tries to catch her footing.

At this, Gold’s blank face morphs into a feral snarl, and hisses at the man who’d almost pushed her down. The man looks back and gets a comical look of shock, quickly walking away.

“Now that was just uncalled for,” Bayla says, brushing nonexistent dust off her blue dress. Gold turns to her, his lips still pulled back to expose his cracked and crooked teeth. He growls and looks ready to walk away himself, as if their short-lived moment of amity hadn’t happened. She huffs, and calls out, “Well, good-bye Monsieur Rumpled-Shirt!” 

Gold looks back with fiery eyes, hissing lowly.

“Hey! Wait,” she jogged up to meet him. “If you’re headed back to the house I’m going their too. I might need to get some of the fresh meat later. Can you come with me?”

Bayla asks in a hurry, and is a little shocked with herself. Yes, she might have to get meet later for the women to cook, but she hated going to the butcher and preferred not to see where her meet came from, despite enjoying the taste of meet. Last year Velvel came with her often if the maids were too busy, and would probably do the same this year. Bayla does not want to be around Velvel, though, because she knows she needs to marry soon, and Velvel is making too many advances for her liking. 

Gold, however, reacted fiercely to the man who’s bumped into her, and might view the advances from the bachelors as a threat to her person. Loew had asked the golem to protect the Jews from threats, and with him living in their household, Gold might be more protective toward her than a stranger in Josefov. A bit selfish, and she could protect herself, but she didn’t want to give any man a chance—though well aware she had to, and sooner rather than later. Just… not now.

Gold blinked at her request. Sighing, she goes to take the water to Perl. As predicted Bayla is asked to go get the meet they had pre-purchased from Haskel. Velvel has come back from some errand, and leapt up to go with Bayla. Yet it’s Gold that follows her out before Perl could ask someone to accompany her.

~.~.~

Bayla was forever thirsty for adventure, but she didn’t like the butcher. She liked animals and didn’t care for watching them being killed, no matter how humanely. She liked them, yet liked eating them, too. Just not the killing part.

The butcher’s shop did not have Haskel waiting, but the hanging meat cuts were fresh enough so he had to be here. She looked and called out fruitlessly. Sighing, she goes toward the back, Gold right behind her. She pauses in the doorway, holding the ends of her apron to her nose.

She’s greeted by the sight of the bull from yesterday, hanging by the backs of its legs, throat cut wide open. Dead eyes dark and unblinking. Vibrant blood drips down onto the mess below, coating the floor like a sea of red paint. 

Gagging, she lifts her skirt and walks past the room to the back, where she hears the men.

The _shohet_ is standing over the neck of the second heifer, holding its head up to expose the neck, with two other men holding the animal down. She hears the quick blessing and sees the man make the very swift cut—Bayla looks away and feels like being ill. She hears the bovine’s head drop a few seconds later, its life gone very quickly.

“Oh—shit, Bayla! What are you doing back here!?” One of the men said, standing up and whipping blood off his hands. 

“I’m here to pick up the meat for the rebbetzin,” she says through her apron, still covering her mouth.

“Ah,” the other man, Haskel, remarks and leaps forward, rushing to the front where he placed a large sack of the ordered beef and mutton cuts. “Hello, Gold,” he greets awkwardly. Even the townspeople here found him unnerving. Of course, Gold did not respond, just stared for too long.

The golem picks up the large sack as if it weighs nothing, and Bayla is ready to leave and go home, curl up in her room with a book and try not to think about eating. But the door to the butcher shop swings open and Velvel walks in, looking mildly harassed. 

“Hey,” he greets with a funny little laugh, eyeing between the two. “I thought we always go together? Here, let me help carry that, Gold.”

Since Velvel wasn’t really a threat, Gold stood still and watched the young man approach and try and help carry the cumbersome package. Yet he did not budge, and grunted in displeasure when it was tried to be taken from him. Bayla rolled her eyes, but since she did ask Gold to hold the meat, he followed that order completely, not even letting the other male help.

“Thanks, Velvel, but we got it…”

“Actually,” he says, finally letting go and turning to Bayla, his cheeks flush. Haskel, who is still there and watching them, shakes his head. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

“Yes?”

Velvel blushes again and goes to leave, the two others following as they leave the butcher. In the street, he turns to her again. “My family is well-off, you know. It’s not as quiet here as it is in Worms, but I’ve got plenty of folks that are eager to meet you.”

“Meet me?”

“I mean,” he shifts from foot to foot. “I’d like to take you there, after the wedding.”

Bayla goes sheet white.

“Wedding?”

Velvel nods, unable to meet her eyes. “If you’ll have me.” He attempts to take her hand.

Gold reacts as she had expected—a quick snarl that makes the young man back up.

“Velvel…” Bayla looks at Gold, who’s watching Velvel like he’s nothing more than a bug he’d like to squish. She wonders how the golem would react to a Jew harming another Jew—would he use force? Or get help? “I’m flattered, but… I’m just not interested.”

Velvel deflates. “Oh. Oh okay. Um. I’m sorry I—“ He turns back and runs off, leaving the two standing in the street.

Bayla sighs in defeat. “I don’t understand men. I have to get married, but I don’t know if I even like the boys I know or anyone for that matter. Velvel’s nice… but he’s just a boy. Barely older than me. It’d be like marrying a brother.”

The golem watches her intently.

“And Gaston.. he’s just so horrible, not because he’s goyishe. If I don’t marry him he’ll try to make Josefov a living hell. If I marry him _my_ life will be a living hell.” Bayla is glad it’s a fast day, because she can’t possibly think about eating now. “You’ll look out for my people, right? No matter what happens?”

Gold has no response, besides his never-wandering gaze from her.

“I think I’d marry a monster if it meant these people would be okay,” she says, watching people stroll about in their day. “But the Loews would be so disappointed. Of course, they want me to marry another Jew. Maybe I should have accepted Velvel's proposal, and get away from this all...”

Bayla looks up at him then, laughing humorlessly. “Maybe I should just marry _you_, Monsieur Rumpled-Shirt. It’s not like you’d force me to do any-”

She freezes, her eyes going wide, and gets a horribly delightful idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the 16th century, Tzfat was a thriving Jewish city in Israel, and a major center of Kabbalah.


End file.
